And it was at that moment that a rich man appeared in their lives. He was about forty. He had an expensive suit, an expensive car, and the heavy gaze of a man accustomed to being accepted.
He came to their house and said calmly, almost indifferently:
“I’ll help your father get out early. I’ll pay off his debts. Your family will never want for anything again. Just marry me and bear me a son. I’ll die in a year anyway.”
He spoke as if he were discussing buying land.
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The girl was silent. She looked at his face, at his confidence, and suddenly felt sorry for him. Forty years old. Rich. And still alone. He repeated that the doctors had given him a year at most.
The girl agreed. Not because of the money—that’s what she told herself. He’ll die in a year anyway. And her father will get out, and her mother will get treatment. What did she have to lose?
The wedding was quick and quiet.
But on their wedding night, something happened to the girl that left her completely horrified, and the next morning she fled the house. 
When her husband fell asleep, the girl couldn’t sleep. The house seemed strange and cold. She got up to walk down the hallway and accidentally saw a light in the office. The door was slightly open.
Papers lay on the desk.
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