This truth shook me. I thought I was just a placeholder—someone to be bought with the house. But I was chosen because she trusted me. Because she hoped I would give Michael the care and love she feared he would never find.

That day I silently swore to myself: No matter how this marriage turned out, I would never leave him.

On a stormy night in San Francisco, Michael suddenly collapsed. Panic overcame me as I took him to UCSF Medical Center. Although he was unconscious, he grabbed my hand and whispered:

“If you get tired one day, go. The lake house is compensation. I don’t want you to suffer because of me…”

Tears welled up in my eyes. At some point, he had captured my heart. I squeezed his hand and whispered:

“No matter what happens, I won’t leave you. You are my husband—my family.”
When he regained consciousness and saw me still there, his eyes filled with tears—this time not of sadness, but of warmth. Then we both knew: We didn’t need a traditional marriage, but a real one. One based not on perfection, but on quiet loyalty and mutual care.

The villa on Lake Tahoe was no longer a gift. It became our home. I planted flowers outside, and Michael set up a painting corner in the living room. In the evenings, we sat together, listening to the rain pattering on the pines, and shared simple dreams and quiet joys.

Maybe true happiness isn’t found in flawless love or a perfect life. Maybe it’s in finding someone who stays—even when it’s not easy.
And I realized… I had found that happiness. It began that night when I trembled with uncertainty—and decided to stay.