Married to the Man I Hate

Pride Vs Survival

POV: Her

I didn’t stop walking until my feet started to hurt.

The moment the revolving doors of the Blackstone Hotel released me back onto the street, the city noise rushed in like a slap…horns, voices, engines, life continuing as if my world hadn’t just tilted off its axis.

Marriage.

The word echoed in my head, absurd and heavy all at once.

I tightened my grip on my bag and kept moving, afraid that if I stopped, I’d feel everything at once…the humiliation, the fear, the anger burning just beneath my skin.

Who did he think he was?

Offering me money like that. Talking about my life like it was a problem he could solve with a signature and a contract. Acting as if my desperation gave him the right to rewrite my future.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Mum.

I let it ring.

By the time I reached my dorm building, my chest felt tight like something was pressing down on it from the inside. I climbed the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last, and unlocked my door with shaking fingers.

The room greeted me with its familiar quiet.

Peeling paint. Narrow bed. Desk cluttered with books I could barely afford. This tiny space was everything I had fought for, everything I stood to lose.

I dropped my bag and sank onto the bed.

Seven days.

I pulled the notice out again, smoothing the creased paper with my palm as if that could soften the words printed on it.

FINAL WARNING.

No appeals. No mercy.

My throat burned.

I reached for my phone, opened my banking app and closed it again just as quickly. I didn’t need to see the numbers to know the truth. I had counted them a dozen times already. Every coin, every note, every failed attempt to stretch nothing into something.

I laughed softly, the sound brittle.

Pride had gotten me this far. Pride had kept me from asking for help, from admitting how bad things had become. Pride had made me believe I could outwork the system, outrun the bills, survive on sheer determination.

Pride didn’t pay tuition.

My phone buzzed again.

Mum: Please tell me you ate today.

The tears came then, hot and sudden.

I pressed my palm to my mouth, willing myself to breathe quietly. I couldn’t let her hear this…couldn’t let her know how close I was to breaking. She already carried enough guilt for what she couldn’t give me.

I typed back slowly.

I’m fine, just tired.

The lie tasted familiar.

I dropped the phone onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, the cracks forming patterns I had memorized over the years. How many nights had I spent here, counting those cracks instead of sleeping? How many sacrifices had brought me to this point?

And now a stranger in a tailored suit thought he could own the solution.

I sat up abruptly.

No.

I wouldn’t do it.

I couldn’t!

There had to be another way.

Another job.

Another loan.

Another miracle I hadn’t thought of yet.

I opened my laptop and refreshed my email.

Nothing.

I refreshed again.

Still nothing.

My stomach growled, sharp and insistent. I ignored it, opening job boards, scanning listings I had already memorized. Café work, Retail, Cleaning shifts. Anything.

I applied anyway, again and again.

Hours passed unnoticed.

By evening, the light in my room dimmed, the hum of the hallway growing louder as other students returned from classes and dinners and lives that felt impossibly distant from mine.

I finally stood and made instant noodles, eating them straight from the pot. The heat burned my tongue, grounding me just enough to keep the panic at bay.

Marriage.

I pushed the word away again but it crept back, unwelcome and persistent.

The way he had looked at me…not with desire, not even with cruelty but with certainty.

You’ll come back.

The thought made my chest ache.

I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes.

What would it even mean? To belong to someone like him? To trade one kind of struggle for another? I imagined waking up in a house that didn’t feel like mine, answering to a name that wasn’t built on love but necessity.

I imagined the relief too.

No overdue notices.

No counting coins.

No fear of being pulled out of class because I couldn’t pay.

The shame of it twisted inside me.

I rolled onto my side, clutching a pillow to my chest. This wasn’t how my life was supposed to go. I had worked too hard for this. I had dreamed too honestly.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, I answered.

“Mum,” I said softly.

“Oh thank God,” she sighed. “I’ve been calling. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said automatically. Then hesitated. “I mean… I’m trying to be.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Is something wrong at school?”

I swallowed. “Just…pressure.”

She hummed gently. “Pressure passes. You’re strong, you always have been.”

I closed my eyes.

Strength felt like a myth right now.

After we hung up, I sat in silence, the weight of everything pressing in until my thoughts circled back to the same place.

Seven days.

No options.

I reached into my bag out of habit, my fingers brushing against nothing but worn fabric.

The folder wasn’t there.

Of course it wasn’t. I had walked away without it, like that alone proved I still had control.

And yet the words inside it followed me anyway, etched into my mind with cruel clarity.

I hated that he was right.

I hated that survival didn’t care about pride.

And most of all, I hated that somewhere deep down, beneath all the fear and anger, a quiet voice was whispering what I didn’t want to hear.

I would go back.

Not because I trusted him.

Not because I wanted what he was offering.

But because the world had backed me into a corner and corners didn’t leave room for dignity.

I lay back down, staring into the dark, knowing sleep wouldn’t come easily…if at all.