At 40, I agreed to marry a disabled man through a matchmaker to finish the story. On the wedding night, I trembled when I lifted the blanket, a terrible truth.
My entire youth was exhausted in unfinished love affairs.
Some betrayed me, others only saw me as a temporary stop.
At 40, I was still alone in a small apartment in Seattle, going to work and coming home, no longer hoping for the word “love”.

One evening, my mother – Mrs. Margaret – sighed during dinner:

“Why don’t you try meeting Daniel? He has a disability in his leg, but he is a good person. He really cares about you.”

Daniel Harris, 5 years older than me, had an injury to his right leg after a motorcycle accident when he was 17.
He lives with his elderly mother in a small town near Tacoma, working as an electronics repairman at home.
People say he has secretly loved me for a long time but did not dare to say it.

I thought: I’m 40, I don’t have time to wait for a perfect person anymore.

So, on a gloomy rainy afternoon, I nodded in agreement.

No white wedding dress, no fresh flowers, just a small ceremony with a few relatives, in a simple wooden house with the scent of pine.

That night, the rain fell heavily on the corrugated iron roof.

I lay still on the bed, my hands trembling, my heart pounding.

Daniel walked into the room, limping, holding a cup of warm water.

“Drink this, to ease your anxiety,” he said, his voice low and light as the wind.

He turned off the light, pulled the blanket over me, then sat on the edge of the bed.
The air was so quiet that I could hear my own heartbeat.

I closed my eyes, my mind filled with worries and fears…

But a few seconds later, I heard… him say softly:

“Don’t be afraid. I don’t plan to do anything tonight.”

His voice was hoarse but strangely calm.

He pulled the blanket up to my chest, then sat down on the wooden chair next to the bed.

“I know you don’t love me. You’re just… tired. You want someone to lean on.

I understand, and I will never make you feel forced.
Just from now on, don’t feel lonely anymore.”

I opened my eyes.
The streetlight outside the window shone on his face – tanned, thin, but his eyes were strangely warm.

He smiled, a smile so gentle that it made my throat tighten.

I’ve been through so many relationships: empty promises, sweet messages that disappeared, men who only came and left.

And now, this man with limping legs made me feel more at peace than anyone else.

Daniel continued softly:

“Before the accident, I dreamed of having a small family, a wife, a few children, a cozy home.
But after that incident, I just wanted someone to sit down and have dinner with me, listen to the rain — that was enough.
Go to sleep. Tomorrow I will wake up early to cook breakfast for Mom.”

I turned around, my voice trembling:

“Daniel…”
He replied:
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”

He just smiled, then limped out of the room.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
It was still raining outside, but for the first time in my heart… I felt warm.

I woke up early.
Daniel was in the kitchen, working hard on the gas stove.
The smell of toast and coffee filled the house.
On the table were two bowls of hot oatmeal, next to a piece of paper scribbled in hasty handwriting:

“Wishing you a peaceful first morning.”

I stood still, tears welling up in my eyes.

In that moment, I understood —
happiness is not a romantic love or a flowery promise.

Happiness is simply having someone who is sincere, gentle enough not to make you afraid.