This woman had a secret motive when she decided to marry an old rich man. No one expected this.
Hana looked around, surrounded by hostile faces. There was not a single friendly face in the crowd. The wedding official scrutinized her, a surprised expression etched on his face. “Hana?” the bride asked, her surroundings feeling surreal, as if she were in a dream. His words seemed hazy, and she struggled to remember his last few sentences. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?” she asked, her voice shaking.
He looked at her with a confused expression, then cleared his throat. “I’ll say it again,” he offered, smiling to break the tension, but his polite smile held more discomfort than amusement. He almost seemed to pity her.
“One,” said the priest again. “Do you take this man to be your husband and vow to live together in holy matrimony, to love, honor, and comfort him, to forsake all else in sickness and in health, and to keep him for as long as the two of you live?” Hana felt like she was going to choke on the words, her throat tight with nervousness. She looked down at her own hand, which was clasped tightly in the old man’s. She looked up and saw Haru, thirty-seven years her senior, standing before her.
She never imagined her life would unfold the way it did. Her wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, filled with laughter, applause, and warm wishes for the newlyweds.
She raised her eyes again, and the priest waited impatiently for her answer. A single gaze swept the crowd: no friends or family were present, despite her invitation. The sparse attendees were elderly relatives or friends of the day, their faces twisted in disgust. She could almost hear their unspoken condemnation. She quickly turned her head away, not wanting to meet their gaze as she spoke the decisive words. With a deep sigh, she muttered in a shaky voice, “Yes.”