I didn't understand. I crushed down everything I was feeling and looked at Owen.
"Plenty of women want to marry you. Why does it have to be me?"
Owen lifted his eyes to mine, his voice flat.
"Because you're sensible and easy to handle. And besides—"
He paused, then went on.
"And besides, you need a lot of money to keep your father alive."
"Other than coming to me for scraps, what choice do you really have?"
"And marrying you is the only way I get to stay by Roberta's side without anyone questioning it."
He wasn't wrong. As things stood, I had no grounds to refuse anything he asked.
For a long moment I said nothing. Then I lifted my head and agreed to his terms.
I only made one demand of my own.
"I want to see my father. I want to see for myself that he's all right."
Owen frowned, plainly out of patience.
But against the stubbornness in my eyes, he gave in at last.
Early the next morning, I saw my father in a private hospital.
His face was frighteningly pale, yet when he saw me he forced up that same bright, easy smile.
He was always like this. Afraid I'd worry, so he pretended everything was light and fine.
Seeing me come alone, he grew uneasy.
"Where's your husband? You two haven't been fighting lately, have you?"
I shook my head and forced out a thin smile. "No. We're doing fine."
Only then did he relax. He took the bowl of pork rib soup I held out, and there was nothing but relief in his voice.
"Good. I was afraid I'd caused a rift between you and him."
"Honestly, your husband had a point. The people coming from his side are all important, respectable folks."
"Looking the way I do, I'd only have embarrassed you."
I froze where I stood, my hand hanging in the air.
Owen had never told me any of this.
My eyes stung red in an instant, and before I knew it I was asking, "If I didn't want to marry anymore, would that be all right..."
My voice was barely there, but my father heard it clearly.
"Sweetheart, has Owen been mistreating you?"
"Or did Roberta cause some trouble again and upset you?"
He sat bolt upright, so worked up that a fit of coughing tore through him.
I came to my senses and rushed to say it was only a joke.
But my father's face stayed dead serious as he gripped my hand tight.
"Sweetheart, you must never tie your life to mine."
"My greatest wish in this whole life is just to see you happy. Don't you know that?"
My nose ached, and the tears came down before I could stop them.
He got so angry he wanted to call Owen and demand an answer.
I hurried to stop him, making up some excuse about an allergy, nothing serious.
Then I fled.
Because I was terrified that if I stayed one second longer, he'd see through me and refuse the treatment.
I was still turning it over, wondering whether to beg Owen one more time.
If only my father could see me in the wedding dress. Even from behind would be enough.
But the moment I stepped out of the hospital, a cry went up in the distance.
"A patient jumped!"
I looked over from far off, and something about the figure was familiar.
It wasn't until I came closer that I realized it was my father.
In the morgue, a nurse handed me a cash gift envelope. They'd found it under his pillow.
It was the savings he'd scraped together a little at a time out of his own medical money, and folded inside was a note.
"To my daughter, congratulations on your wedding, and may you be happy forever."
I held that scrap of paper and wept until I couldn't make a sound in the morgue.
My father had traded his own life for my happiness.
I'd meant to go find Owen and call off the engagement.
But as I reached the corner outside his office, I heard Roberta's anxious voice.
"Even if your uncle yelled at you on the phone this morning, you still can't go spilling everything about us to him."
"What if he gets desperate and decides to come after you?"
Owen let out a cold scoff, contempt dripping from every word.
"He brought it on himself, pushing me for answers."
"All I did was tell him the truth. If it scared the life out of him, that's what he gets."
"A legless old burden like that. What could he possibly do?"
I sagged against the wall, so heartbroken I could barely keep my feet under me.
I opened the call log.
Two minutes and fourteen seconds, ending the very moment before my father jumped.
So it wasn't the illness that drove my father to his death. It was that phone call from Owen.
In that case, this wedding stays on.
