On my wedding night, the maid, who had worked for me for a long time, suddenly knocked softly on my door and whispered, “If you want to be safe, change your clothes and leave immediately through the back door, before it’s too late.” The next morning, I fell to my knees, tearfully thanking the woman who had saved me.

I ran as fast as I could, breathless, tears streaming down my cheeks. In the dim light of the streetlamp, a motorcycle was waiting for me. A middle-aged man helped me onto the seat and rode off into the darkness.

After nearly an hour’s journey along unfamiliar roads, we arrived at a small house on the outskirts of the village. The man opened the door and said in a low voice, “Stay here. You’re safe now.”

I slumped into a chair, exhausted. Questions flooded my mind: Why had the maid saved me? Who was the man I had just married?

That night, I barely slept. The slightest noise from outside woke me. The man was sitting on the doorstep, smoking, his face illuminated by the glow of his cigarette. In his eyes, I saw compassion and caution.

At dawn, the maid appeared. I fell to my knees, trembling, and thanked her. She helped me to my feet in a hoarse voice.

“You must know the truth. Only then can you protect yourself.”

She revealed to me that my husband’s family was far from respectable. Behind their facade of wealth lay shady dealings and colossal debts. My marriage wasn’t a love match, but a transaction to settle their debts.