My name is Anna Brooks, and I’m twenty-six years old.

I was born in a small, impoverished town in Texas, where the sun burned my skin and the dry wind carried the scent of withered grass. My father died young, and my mother fell gravely ill. At sixteen, I had to drop out of school and move to Houston to work as a maid.

I worked for the Harrison family—one of the wealthiest and most renowned families in the real estate business. Their only son, Ethan Harrison, thirty-one, was a handsome and well-educated man who always kept a distance from everyone.

For nearly three years, I quietly served the family—cleaning, cooking, bowing, and keeping my head down. I never imagined that one day the name “Anna Brooks” would ever be paired with “Harrison.”

The Strange Proposal

One morning, Mrs. Caroline Harrison, the landlady, summoned me to the living room. She placed a marriage certificate on the table in front of me and said in a calm yet resolute voice:

“Anna, if you agree to marry Ethan, the $2 million lakeside villa in Austin will be in your name. It’s a wedding gift from my family.”

I was stunned.

A maid like me—marrying the only son of the Harrison family?

At first, I thought she was joking, but when I saw the seriousness in her eyes, I realized she meant every word.

I didn’t know the reason behind such an offer. All I knew was that my mother desperately needed money for treatment, and this might be my only chance to save her.

My mind told me to refuse—but my trembling heart nodded.

The wedding was held at a luxury hotel in downtown Houston. I wore the white gown Caroline had chosen for me and walked down the aisle under the curious gaze of hundreds of guests.

I didn’t smile. I simply clenched my hands tightly to stop them from shaking.

Ethan, my groom, maintained his usual cold, distant expression. He didn’t even glance my way once.

I thought to myself, “Maybe I’m just a gift to him—a ‘nominal wife’ to please his mother.”

That night, in the newlywed villa by the lake, I sat by the bed, my hands trembling. Outside, the sound of rain gently tapped against the glass doors.

Ethan entered, holding a glass of water, his steps slightly uneven.

“Drink this,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “You look nervous.”

I nodded and drank, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it. Ethan sat down at the edge of the bed and turned off the light. The room fell into silence.

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for what every bride is supposed to go through.

But moments later, I heard his quiet voice:

“You can sleep, Anna. I won’t touch you… not until you’re ready.”

I opened my eyes and turned toward him.

In the darkness, he lay on his side, his back facing me, keeping a careful distance—as if afraid that even the smallest touch might hurt me.

In that moment, my heart softened.

I never expected that the man everyone thought was cold could be so gentle.

When I woke up the next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains.

On the table sat a breakfast tray: a glass of warm milk, an egg sandwich, and a small note that read:

“Went to the office. Don’t go out if it rains. – E.”

Holding that note, tears rolled down my cheeks.

For more than twenty years, I had cried over men’s betrayals—but this was the first time I cried because someone cared.

The Truth Behind the Marriage

A few weeks later, I overheard a conversation between Caroline and her personal doctor.

Her voice was weak as she said:

“My heart’s failing. I just want Ethan to have someone beside him when I’m gone. Anna’s kind. She won’t leave him because of his condition.”

And at that moment, I understood.

Ethan wasn’t like other men. He had a congenital defect—one that made it impossible for him to fulfill a husband’s role.

I stood frozen, then felt my throat tighten.

I had always thought I was traded for the villa, but in truth, I had been chosen out of love and trust.

From that day on, I made a vow: no matter what, I would never leave him.

One stormy night, Ethan suffered a severe heart attack.

Panicked, I rushed him to the hospital.

In his delirium, he gripped my hand tightly and whispered:

“If one day you get tired, you can leave. The house… it’s yours. I don’t want you to suffer because of me.”

I broke down in tears.

When did this man become the center of my heart?

I squeezed his hand and said:

“I’m not leaving. You are my husband, Ethan. You are my home.”

When he opened his eyes, he smiled—the first smile I had ever seen since our wedding.

We didn’t have a “normal” marriage, but what we shared was far more precious: respect, understanding, and a quiet, enduring love.

The lakeside villa—once just a gift of pity—had now become our true home.

I planted chrysanthemums on the porch; Ethan painted in the living room.

In the evenings, we drank tea together, listening to the rain and sharing simple dreams.

Perhaps happiness isn’t about perfection—it’s about finding someone who chooses to love you, despite everything

And I knew—I had found it that trembling wedding night.

Ten Years Later

Ten years have passed since that night—the night I learned Ethan was not like other men, and the night I chose to stay not out of pity, but out of love.

The lakeside villa in Austin is now surrounded by the flower beds I planted myself.

On the porch stand two old wooden chairs where, every afternoon, we drink tea, listen to the breeze over the water, and reminisce.

Ethan is now forty-one. He works as a freelance landscape painter and teaches art at a university.

As for me—Anna Harrison—I run a small flower shop in the city.

Our life is peaceful and simple, and it felt like nothing could ever shake it.

But fate always finds a way to knock on your door.

The Possibility of Change

One morning in May, during Ethan’s routine check-up, the doctor—an old friend of his—looked up from the file and smiled.

“Ethan, I have news. With today’s medical advances, the pelvic nerve repair surgery that was once impossible for you is now possible. There’s a high chance of a full recovery.”

I was stunned, my heart pounding.

Ethan sat still, his gaze distant.

Hope—something long buried—suddenly resurfaced, both beautiful and terrifying.

On the way home, I held his hand and asked softly:

“Ethan… do you want to try?”

He was silent for a long moment before replying quietly:

“I don’t know. I’m afraid… if the surgery fails, I’ll lose everything—including you.”

I smiled at him and whispered:

“You won’t lose me. No matter what happens.”

But deep down, I knew that if he recovered, our lives would change forever.

In the days that followed, Ethan seemed lost in thought.

He talked about traveling with me, about the dreams he once thought impossible—and about something he had never dared mention before: having a child.

I was speechless. I loved him deeply, but I also knew my chances of conceiving were slim.

One night, I woke to hear him murmur in the dark:

“Anna, have you ever thought… if I were as healthy as other men, would you still have chosen me?”

His question pierced my heart.

I took his hand and answered gently:

“I don’t love your legs. I love your heart.”

He smiled faintly, his eyes filled with sorrow.

“My heart… always wants to give you more than you need.”

The Operation

One morning, Ethan said he was heading to teach.

But at noon, I received a call from the hospital:

“Mrs. Harrison, your husband has been admitted for surgery. He said you’ll understand.”

My world went silent.

I drove to the hospital as fast as I could.

In the pre-op room, Ethan sat quietly in his hospital gown, strangely calm.

“I’m sorry, Anna. I know you’re scared, but I have to try. Not for me—for you. Because I want you to have a complete husband.”

Tears streamed down my face as I clutched his hand.

“I never needed that. I just needed you—just as you are.”

He smiled gently and brushed my hair aside.

“I want to repaint the last picture—the one with us. But this time, I’ll be the one standing.”

The doors to the operating room closed, leaving me trembling in the hallway, praying with all my heart.

The surgery lasted over seven hours.

When the doctor finally emerged, his face tired but smiling, he said:

“The surgery was successful. But he’ll need time—a long time—to recover.”

I cried tears of relief.

A New Beginning

In the months that followed, I stayed by Ethan’s side every day, helping him through rehabilitation, guiding him step by step through the pain.

One afternoon, he broke down in tears during therapy.

“I don’t know if I’m worthy of you anymore. I’m different now—and you’re still the same.”

I wrapped my arms around him and whispered:

“Ethan, you don’t have to prove anything. My love doesn’t need a hero—it just needs you.”

A year later, he had made a full recovery. He could walk normally—even run a little.

The day he walked out the door unaided, I stood there, tears streaming down my face.

That evening, he took me to the lake—the place where we’d once promised to stay together no matter what.

He spread a cloth on the ground and placed a cup of chamomile tea between us.

“Do you remember that rainy night? You said you didn’t want me to touch you until you were ready. Today, I want to ask again—are you ready to go with me… again?”

I laughed through my tears.

“You’ve been here for ten years, Ethan. And if there’s a next life, I’ll still choose to stay.”

He took my hand and said softly:

“You are the dream I never believed I deserved. And this—our Lakeside Dreams.”

He pulled a drawing from his bag—a painting of two people standing hand in hand by the lake, the villa glowing with golden sunlight behind them.

Beneath it, he had written:

“Love doesn’t need to be perfect. It only needs to stay.”

Two years later, we adopted a little orphan girl named Lily.

The villa by the lake filled with laughter once more. Every afternoon, the three of us sat on the porch, sipping tea and listening to the wind sweep across the water.

Ethan would say:

“I used to think my flaws made me lose everything. But they helped me find you.”

And I would smile and reply:

“And you are the most perfect thing life gave me—just a little late.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the lake shimmered in gold, I knew—our dream by the lake wasn’t a fairy tale. It was living proof that true love can overcome every human limit.

Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.