After meeting my family, Adam decided it was time for me to meet his.
Everything felt like it was happening fast—too fast, maybe—but strangely, it didn't feel wrong. With Adam, nothing felt forced. Everything felt natural, as if life itself was gently pushing us forward. He wasn't just my love. He was the man who asked me to be his wife.
Not a lover.
Not a passing chapter.
His wife.
That single word still feels unreal when I think about it. Adam didn't hesitate. He didn't suggest. He knew. The certainty in his eyes when he asked me erased every doubt I ever had about love. It told me that I wasn't temporary in his life. I was intentional.
With my parents' blessings, we decided to visit Adam's family.
I was nervous—terrified, actually. My background is simple. Small town. Farmer parents. No wealth, no influence, no powerful name behind me. I knew this difference could become a hurdle, even if Adam believed otherwise.
But Adam reassured me.
"You don't need to be afraid," he told me, holding my hands gently. "You're enough. Just the way you are."
So I trusted him.
The journey to his home felt different from before. This time, we laughed. We talked about silly things. He pointed out places, told me small stories from his childhood. For a while, I forgot my fear. I forgot the possibility of rejection. I only felt excitement—because I was walking into his world, and he was holding my hand through it.
When we finally reached his house, I was speechless.
It wasn't just a house—it was a statement. Spacious. Elegant. Every corner spoke of wealth, legacy, power. It had everything one could possibly imagine. For a moment, I felt very small standing there, my fingers unconsciously tightening around Adam's.
As if sensing my thoughts, Adam wrapped his arm around me protectively.
That's when I noticed there were guests inside.
Well-dressed. Confident. The kind of people who belong to this world effortlessly.
As soon as they acknowledged our presence, an elderly man approached us. He resembled Adam so much that I didn't need an introduction to know—this was his father.
Out of courtesy, he introduced Adam to the guests, speaking proudly about business, alliances, future plans. Adam nodded politely, responding when required. I stood there quietly, unsure of where I belonged in this conversation.
Then it happened.
Casually. Coldly.
Like it was nothing.
His father announced that Adam's marriage had already been fixed—with the daughter of one of his business partners.
The words hit me like a storm.
For a second, I couldn't breathe.
This pain was nothing like what I felt when Sam broke my heart. That pain was humiliation. This was terror. Panic. The fear of losing something precious—something that felt like oxygen to my soul.
Losing Adam felt unbearable.
His presence in my life wasn't just love—it was healing. He gave me strength when I felt broken, confidence when I felt invisible. I didn't want to lose him. I couldn't lose him.
My eyes burned, but before tears could fall, Adam spoke.
Firmly. Clearly.
He took my hand and said, "She is Alice. And she is the only woman who will be my wife."
For a moment, the world felt lighter.
Relief washed over me like rain on dry land. His words anchored me, reminded me that I wasn't alone in this room full of strangers.
But that relief was short-lived.
His father didn't even look at me.
He didn't question Adam.
He didn't argue.
He didn't acknowledge my existence at all.
Instead, he turned back to the guests, continuing the conversation as if Adam hadn't said anything important. As if I wasn't standing there. As if my future, my feelings, my presence meant nothing.
That hurt more than anger ever could.
I stood there silently, my heart pounding, my hands trembling slightly. No one spoke to me. No one asked who I was. No one tried to know me. I was invisible—again.
Adam noticed.
I felt his grip tighten around my hand. His jaw clenched. He wanted to say something—I knew he did. But years of hierarchy, respect, and control hung heavy in the air. This wasn't just a father. This was power.
And I was standing in the middle of it.
I realized then how big the gap between our worlds really was.
Not in money.
Not in status.
But in acceptance.
I didn't cry. Not there.
I refused to give them that satisfaction.
I stood tall, even though my heart was breaking quietly inside. I reminded myself of my parents' warmth, their trust in me, the love that raised me without conditions.
I didn't need approval to exist.
But I needed Adam.
And as I looked at him—angry, helpless, protective—I knew one thing clearly.
This wasn't over.
Not for him.
Not for me.
Not for us.
Even if the world stood against us, even if his father refused to see me, I knew Adam had already chosen.
And so had I.
No matter how painful this path became, I wouldn't walk away.
Because love like this doesn't come twice.
And I wasn't going to lose it without a fight.