The day I first arrived at Velasco Villa, it was as if I was carrying the weight of all the trials I had gone through in life.

The mansion was tall and silent, its wide windows reflecting the cloudy Manila sky.

In the car this morning, my stepmother, Lourdes Santos, squeezed my arm tightly.

“Remember, Amara,” she whispered coldly,

“This marriage is a gift to you.

Don’t ask questions. Don’t argue. Just obey.”

I nodded silently.

Ever since my father passed away, I’ve gotten used to living without choices.

My husband, Adrian Velasco, lives alone on their family’s vast estate. He’s been in a wheelchair since a tragic accident—an event no one wants to talk about.

On the drive there, I overheard the housemaids whispering about his brilliance as a young businessman… and the fiancée who left him when the tragedy struck.

When we finally met, he didn’t smile.

He just pointed to the door quietly and said in a low voice:

“You’re going to live here. Live as you wish.

I won’t intrude.”

That night, after the maids had left, the house seemed so big and so cold.

I sat near the door, not knowing what to do.

“Uh… I can help you make yourself comfortable,” I said softly.

He looked at me—his pale eyes were unreadable.

“No need,” he whispered.

“I know I’m just a burden.”

“N-no,” I replied, even though my voice was shaking.

I walked over.

“Let me help you to the bed.”

His eyes widened in surprise for a moment, then he nodded.

I put my arm around him from behind and tried to lift him up. But my foot slipped on the carpet—

and we both fell to the floor.

My body ached as I struggled to get up, but I stopped when I felt a slight movement under the blanket.

“…Can you still feel it?” I asked in surprise.

He turned his head, and a fragile but genuine smile appeared.

“The doctor said I could walk if I went through therapy,” she said softly.

“But when everyone left because I couldn’t stand anymore…
it seemed like it was pointless to walk or not.”

Those words weighed even more heavily on the silence that filled the room.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Her voice kept replaying in my mind.

In the days that followed, I began to change our daily lives.

Every morning, I would push her out onto the balcony.

“You don’t have to love the sunlight,” I once said.

“But somehow… it still loves you.”

Gradually, she stopped refusing.

“Why are you bothering me?” she asked one morning, closing her eyes to the light.

“Because no one should be left in the dark,” I replied softly.

Slowly, I encouraged her to stand.

“Hold my hand tight,” I said.

She did—shaking at first.

“One more step,” I whispered.

There were times when she fell, but I always caught her, massaging her legs afterward.

“Aren’t you scared?” she asked one night.

“No,” I replied.

“All I’m scared of… is that you’ll give up.”

Her eyes—once cold and distant—had gradually become gentle.

At night, we quietly talked about our pasts.

“The day she left me,” she whispered once,

“I struggled to walk for months.

With every step, I felt worthless.”

“If there was something left,” I asked carefully,

“would you try again?”

“Maybe,” she replied.

Just one word—but it sank into my heart.

One afternoon, Lourdes suddenly arrived. His voice was sharp.

“Are you happy now?” he asked.

“Don’t forget to send your mother some money.

We invested in you, Amara.”

Before I could speak, Adrian entered in a wheelchair.

He quietly placed a check on the table.

“Thank you for bringing her into my life,” he said coldly.

“But from now on, you have no right to her.”

Lourdes’ face turned white.

For the first time in my life, someone stood up for me—not because I had to, but because I deserved it.

Weeks passed, then months.

Adrian grew stronger. He could walk with a cane.

I held his hand all the time.

One morning, I woke up and the bed was empty.

I got nervous and ran into the garden—

and there I saw him, walking alone.

“Your feet are healed…” I whispered.

He came over and held my hand.

“Yes,” he smiled.

“But what you really healed… was my heart.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I hugged him tightly.

The Velasco Villa—once cold and quiet—was now filled with laughter and warmth.

Every morning, he would make the coffee.

Every evening, we would walk together in the rose garden, talking about the life we ​​were slowly rebuilding.

One night, I jokingly asked:

“Do you still remember our wedding night?”

He laughed heartily.

“Of course. You were the one who carried me then.

Now… I will carry you—for life.”

I rested my head on his shoulder and whispered softly:

“You don’t need strong legs to keep going.

All you need are… hearts with the courage to find each other.”