Chapter 1: The Wrong Bride

To save his father from ruin, Caleb Lin walked away from the girl he loved and married me—a nobody who couldn’t even read her own vows.

I remember the house that night, how every sound seemed too loud: the prairie wind rattling the screen door, the scent of honeysuckle drifting in from the fields. The Lin family’s name was dirt—folks wouldn’t even say it at church potlucks—and my life was so small, I’d never even been to the city. Suddenly, our fates were tangled by courthouse signatures, witnessed by neighbors who’d whisper about it in the checkout line for months.

On our wedding night, we made three rules:

No crossing the line, no intimacy, no falling in love.

Once his father’s case was overturned, we’d part ways peacefully and marry whoever we wanted.

Finally, in the third year of our marriage, Mr. Lin was vindicated.

1

From the very beginning, my marriage to Caleb Lin was a mistake.

Three years ago, the Harper family found me and brought me back. Only then did I learn I wasn’t the neglected farm girl Ellie, but the third daughter of the Harper family, with a real name—

Natalie Harper.

It was like finding out you’d been cheering for the wrong team your whole life, suddenly handed a new jersey and expected to fit right in. For thirteen years, my world was dirt roads and canned peaches. Suddenly, I had a name that sounded like it belonged on a country club guest list.

But by then, I was already thirteen.

Illiterate, clueless about music or chess, my manners a mess; I made a fool of myself at family gatherings when I accompanied my mother.

Those Harper dinners were like walking into a Broadway audition when you’d only ever sung in the shower. My fork always ended up in the wrong hand. My words tumbled out, rough and raw. I saw the looks my sisters exchanged—pity and embarrassment. I tried to hide the calluses on my hands under the linen napkin, but they always peeked out.

To avoid ruining my younger sisters’ chances at good marriages, Grandma ordered my mom to marry me off within three months.

But even though I had status now, it was even harder to find a decent match.

The first candidate was my father’s former student. He was smart and handsome, with beautiful handwriting—his only flaw was that he was broke. My mom said it didn’t matter, she’d give me a big dowry so I wouldn’t have to worry.

He wore thrift-store clothes ironed so crisp they could stand on their own. His hands trembled pouring tea, and I could see the exhaustion under his eyes from caring for his sick mom. I tried to picture us together in some tiny apartment, scraping by, and knew I’d always wonder if he loved me or my family’s checkbook.

I went to see him myself.

His house was bare, his mother was gravely ill and on medication, and a cousin was there taking care of her.

Watching him make earnest promises to me, I turned him down.

His words were soft, desperate, and something in me shrank away—pity was not the right foundation for a life together. I left feeling guilty but relieved, and promised myself I’d never say yes out of obligation.

The second candidate was a thirty-five-year-old widower, who’d outlived three wives and had six or seven kids.

He shook my hand with a grip that was more business deal than greeting. His kids eyed me like a substitute teacher they didn’t want. I counted the wedding rings tucked in his drawer, each a silent warning.

I thought, if I was unlucky and he died before me, I’d have to fight his children for the family home. My heart turned cold.

So I turned him down, too.

After several failed matches, my mom was so anxious she got cold sores at the corners of her mouth.

She dabbed Carmex on her lips between phone calls. Her coffee went cold in the mug, untouched as she scrolled through contacts, voice growing tighter with every call. At night, I could hear her praying softly in the next room, asking for a miracle. It made me feel like a burden, no matter how many times she said otherwise.

That’s when Caleb Lin showed up.

His father, Charles Lin, had been implicated in a college admissions scandal; Mr. Lin’s lifelong reputation was trashed, and the whole family sentenced to move out of state. Only Caleb, who was away at school, was spared thanks to some family connections.

It was all over the local news—pictures of the Lin house with the yard overgrown, mail piling up on the porch. You couldn’t buy milk at the corner store without someone weighing in. Half the town said the Lins got what was coming, the other half whispered it was a set-up. Caleb’s name, though, was never far from people’s lips.

Caleb’s marriage to me wasn’t out of pure intentions.

Neither was mine to him.

He wanted to use the Harper family’s influence to pull some strings and get ahead.

And I, through this marriage, could get a generous dowry from the Harpers, so I wouldn’t have to watch my mom, in her desperation, marry me off to some random guy in three months.

Nor would I be sent off to St. Agatha’s, where girls disappeared behind locked doors and sent home Christmas cards signed with prayers instead of love.

The threat wasn’t a distant one, either. There was a convent two towns over, and more than one girl I’d known had vanished behind its doors, only to send out Christmas cards in shaky script, their hair hidden by a starched wimple. I knew I couldn’t survive behind those stone walls, not with my heart still yearning for open sky.

So, after meeting Caleb once, the marriage was arranged.

On our wedding night, Caleb lingered outside the bedroom door. He didn’t come in for a long time.

The clock in the hall chimed ten, then eleven. I sat at the edge of the bed, my wedding dress itching, listening to his footsteps pacing on the other side of the thin wood. My heart pounded in my chest, palms sweating, unsure if I’d sound too desperate or too cold if I spoke first. I was terrified I’d ruin even this fragile peace, but more afraid of being trapped in silence forever.

I lifted the white bridal veil myself, opened the door, and called out to him:

“Caleb, I know you married me to clear your dad’s name, and I didn’t marry you for love, either. Why not treat this as a transaction? Let’s make three rules—

No crossing the line, no intimacy, no falling in love.

Once your dad’s name is cleared, we’ll separate peacefully, and each of us can remarry.”

The words felt awkward, but necessary—like setting up ground rules for roommates. I needed the distance spelled out, for both our sakes.

Caleb pressed his lips together, raised his hand, and we shook on it three times as a promise.

“All right.”

His grip was steady, but his eyes never met mine—like we were sealing a deal neither of us wanted to sign. In that moment, we became partners in an unspoken contract, nothing more.