At 22 years old, I married the 70-year-old widow of the richest Arab in the country to escape poverty. I was certain I could stick it out by her side for a few years and then become a wealthy man. But on our very first wedding night, what she did truly ‘hurt’ me. – Cute Info

Not disappointment exactly. Something colder.

“Ah,” she murmured. “There it is.”

I immediately regretted the question.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did. And that’s all right. At least you haven’t insulted me by pretending otherwise.”

She stood and picked up her handbag.

“Think about it for a few days. If you agree, my lawyer will arrange everything.”

She left me sitting alone at the table.

For three nights, I barely slept.

I knew marrying Margaret for money was wrong. I knew I might become the subject of gossip. I knew people would assume I was exploiting her.

But I also convinced myself that I could endure an uncomfortable marriage for a few years and emerge financially secure.

I imagined paying off my father’s debts, buying my mother a house, and starting my own business.

I told myself that many marriages were built on practical arrangements rather than love.

I told myself that Margaret knew exactly what she was doing.