To repay Aunt Clara for her kindness in raising me, I stepped in for my cousin. I married Mira Sterling, the eldest daughter of the prominent Sterling family, who suffered from autism. For seven years, she was nothing but cold to me. I swallowed my pride, even tried to climb into her bed. But all I got in return was endless ridicule and scorn. Later, I successfully organized a painting exhibition for her. Yet, in front of me, she took another man’s hand. I knew then. My mission was complete. It was time to leave. To outsiders, my marriage into the Sterling family was an act of destiny, a stroke of good fortune. As one of the most renowned old-money families in the city, the Sterlings typically arranged strategic business marriages. And I? I was just a discarded orphan, living under someone else’s roof. I was only six when my parents died. More than sadness, I felt a gripping fear for the future. My uncles, caught in a bitter fight over the family inheritance, couldn’t stand the sight of me. They claimed I was cursed, a jinx, and none of them wanted the responsibility. So, they decided to send me to an orphanage. I didn’t want to go. I’d heard stories of a monster there that ate kids who didn’t sleep. Desperate, I found my father’s old phone and tried calling Aunt Clara. It was my first time reaching out to any of my father’s relatives. He’d been a scion of a wealthy family himself, but he’d cut ties with them all to marry my mother. Aunt Clara listened to my plea, then hung up without a word. I tried to console myself. My father had hurt her deeply; it was only natural she wouldn’t want to deal with me. But for some reason, the tears just wouldn’t stop flowing, no matter how much I wiped. The next morning, I woke up early, packed my backpack, and prepared to run away. I’d rather go hungry and sleep under a bridge than be eaten by some monster. But the moment I slipped out of my room, I bumped into a woman. I recognized her instantly—it was Aunt Clara. She looked so much like my father. Aunt Clara gently touched my head and asked if I’d had breakfast. I shook my head. She picked me up, carried me to her car, and drove me back to her home. My grandparents had passed away long ago. Aunt Clara frowned, looking at my thin, gaunt frame. “I have Liam and Lily to look after; I don’t have time for him. You brought this trouble home, you deal with it yourself,” my uncle snapped. “Don’t worry, he’s a good kid. Just give him food, and he’ll manage everything else on his own,” Aunt Clara replied, though a little hesitantly. To prove Aunt Clara right, I started teaching myself to eat, dress, go to school, and sleep independently. Beyond that, I proactively helped look after my younger cousin, Lily. My cousin Liam, who was only two months older than me, was a proud young master. Growing up, he never called me his younger brother. Instead, he treated me like a servant, barking orders. But I never got angry. Everyone has their fate. He certainly had reasons to be proud. For me, just growing up safely and healthily felt like a miracle. After high school, Aunt Clara wanted to send Liam and me to study in the UK. But Mira Sterling’s appearance completely derailed all our plans.
She came with Mrs. Sterling to propose marriage to Liam. My grandfather, when he was alive, had indeed arranged a childhood engagement with Mr. Sterling. It was a casual remark made over drinks, a jest, and I never imagined Mrs. Sterling would take it seriously. The atmosphere in the living room grew awkward. Mira, who had been silently staring at the floor, suddenly stood up and walked towards the backyard. Aunt Clara quickly told me to follow her, instructing me to look after her carefully. At first, I didn’t know she had autism. I just found it odd how rude this Miss Sterling was. It was late spring, early summer, and the roses in the garden were blooming in vibrant, delicate hues. Mira, as if by magic, pulled a canvas and easel from her backpack and began to paint with intense focus. I didn’t dare disturb her, so I stood silently behind her, just watching. It’s no exaggeration to say Mira was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had stunning bone structure, flawless, porcelain skin. Her eyes, deep enough to make your heart skip a beat, exuded an aristocratic aura. Just as I was silently marveling at how some people just hit the genetic lottery, something dramatic happened. Mira seemed intensely dissatisfied with her painting. With a frustrated growl, she crumpled the canvas into a ball. I wanted to offer some comfort, but she suddenly reached out and squeezed the sharp thorns on a rose stem. Blood instantly welled up and trickled down her hand, but she didn’t seem to feel any pain. Instead, she tilted her head, looking thoughtful, as if observing something profound. “Let go! Please, let go!” I was frantic, like a cat on a hot tin roof. Miss Sterling was a distinguished guest of the Sterling family. If she got hurt under my watch, who knew how much trouble it would cause Aunt Clara. I yelled loudly, but she didn’t react at all. Left with no choice, I reached out to grab her arm. The moment my hand touched her sleeve, she suddenly flew into a rage, shoving me hard to the ground. I was terrified. Her expression was absolutely horrifying. I even thought she would hit me. But she didn’t. She just turned back and continued painting. Mrs. Sterling, hearing the commotion, rushed over. She was clearly used to such incidents and quickly led her daughter away. After they left, Liam burst into tears. “I don’t want to marry her! I want to go to the UK! If you dare force me, I’ll end it right here!” Aunt Clara’s heart ached, but beneath it was a profound sense of helplessness. The bulk of our family’s business relied on the Sterlings. Offending Mrs. Sterling would have unimaginable consequences. Aunt Clara tried to comfort her son while secretly glancing at me. “The family doesn’t have just one son, why are you always looking at Liam?!” my uncle questioned. Liam nodded furiously. “Exactly! Let Owen marry her! Mom and Dad have raised him for so many years; it can’t be for nothing.” “What nonsense are you talking about? Miss Sterling has autism! How could I possibly push Owen into such a difficult situation?!” Aunt Clara retorted, her voice strained. “So you’d rather your own son jump into that difficult situation…”
Aunt Clara and my uncle argued all night. I hid in my room, listening in silence, my decision already made. The next day, I told Aunt Clara that I was willing to take Liam’s place and marry into the Sterling family. “Liam is right. You and Uncle have been so good to me. Now it’s my turn to repay you.” Aunt Clara’s eyes welled up. She took my hand, wanting to say something, but ultimately, no words came out. Because Mira had special needs, the wedding was very simple. I thought her willingness to marry meant she was ready to share her life with me. But I was wrong. On our wedding night, the moment I stepped into the bridal room, her face hardened. “Get out!” “This is my room,” I protested. “You are not allowed to sleep here.” I tried to reason with her, to explain the meaning of marriage. But she wouldn’t listen. Instead, she tore down all the red wedding decorations plastered around the room. I was filled with helplessness and had no choice but to turn around and leave in shame. My mother-in-law, seeing the scene, sighed deeply and called me into her study. She told me that Mira wasn’t inherently bad, just reclusive and unwilling to interact with people. Since I had married her, I had to take on the responsibility of caring for my wife. She believed that if I was devoted enough, I could definitely help Mira open up her heart and accept me. I decided to try. Caring for someone with autism was both mentally and physically exhausting. Every day, I personally cooked her three meals, reminded her to take her medication on time, and accompanied her to her follow-up appointments. To understand her more thoroughly, I bought every book I could find on autism, immersing myself in them until the early hours of the morning. My efforts gradually yielded results. Mira slowly adapted to my presence, no longer resisting me as she had at first. I was allowed to ride in the same car as her, or sit at the same table for meals. Knowing I liked fruit, she would meticulously arrange a beautiful fruit platter for me with her own hands. I had low immunity and often caught colds or fevers, so she would bring me ginger tea and force me to drink it. Time passed quickly, and the seasons flowed by. We both grew accustomed to this routine. The only dissatisfied person was my mother-in-law. Every few days, she would call me for a talk, her sole purpose being to pressure me to have a baby. Forced into a corner, I had to be direct. Mira was completely unaware of intimate matters, and she wouldn’t even let me sleep in the same bed as her. My mother-in-law, exasperated, sent Mira to the hospital for a check-up. The doctor said there was nothing wrong with her physically; she just couldn’t overcome her psychological barriers and accept such intimacy. “It all comes back to you,” my mother-in-law fumed. “Can’t you find a way to make her fall in love with you?!” I was lost and bewildered. What was love? I didn’t even know myself, let alone Mira.
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