The lawyer's next words felt like a final blow. Eight weeks. We had eight weeks before we lost all Dad had built.

I stared at the papers on our table, each number a strike against our future. The home loan, Grace's school, Mom's bills—all merged into a huge debt that weighed on me.

"I don't understand," I said softly. "Dad was smart with money. He always said the house was almost ours."

Thomas looked sorry, but his eyes were cold. "Your dad made some bad investments in the last months. The firm was losing money, and he took another loan to save it."

"Why didn't he tell us?" Grace's voice broke as she spoke. She was standing by Mom's chair, hands shaking.

"Pride," Richard said gently, his hand still on me. "He was too proud to say he was in trouble. He hoped to fix it all before you girls knew."

His touch felt wrong, but I couldn't pull away. This man had been like another dad, had taught me to ride a bike, and never missed a birthday. How could I now fear him?

"What are you offering?" I asked, trying to sound calm.

Richard and Thomas looked at each other. My stomach sank. What they had in mind wasn't going to be simple.

"A wealthy man," began Richard slowly, "needs a wife for a short while."

The idea didn't make sense at first. I waited for him to add more, to clear up the confusion. But he stayed serious.

"Sorry, what?" Grace moved closer, her face white. "You're not saying—"

"A marriage arrangement," Thomas cut in sharply. "Just a transaction. He needs a wife for his inheritance claim. In return, he'd clear all your family's debts, cover the house, and pay for Grace's school."

I felt dizzy. This couldn't be real. People didn't just... buy wives. This was now, not some old dark tale.

"That's insane," I said, louder. "You're talking about trading people. That's against the law."

"We'll figure it out together," I told him, taking a deep breath. "We will do it with dignity and give Dad his due. Whatever it takes."

She nodded. Her eyes betrayed alarming uncertainty, sending out nauseating little tendrils of doubt into me that left me shivering all over.

I lay awake all night, just trying to do impossible math. Dad's life insurance might cover the house's mortgage for six months. Grace's education cost maybe half a semester. I just could not do it no matter how many times I reevaluated the calculations—definitely not enough for my mother's medical expenses for her depression therapy.

I thought of the inheritance money in the envelope, of Richard's helping hand, of the vague "options" on offer. I might have been just exaggerating things, but somehow everything didn't sit well with me. Dad had been fine last weekend when I called him. Maybe tired, but he sounded just fine. Now he's dead, his body would have to be buried and Richard was suddenly ascending like an angel to our poor family.

But what choice did I have? My family was drowning, and the only help around here was likely to come from Richard.

Eventually, I fell asleep, only to be awakened in broad daylight by Grace shaking me awake.

"Izzy, he's here," she whispered urgently. "Richard is here, and he brought a friend. I think he's an attorney."

I stumbled downstairs, my pajamas swishing around me, to see Richard with a man in a very expensive suit sitting at our kitchen table. Both men got up as I entered, and Richard's smile was warm, though somehow distant. A little businesslike.

"Izzy, this is Thomas Brennan, my attorney. I thought it would be helpful for him to explain your family's situation clearly."

Thomas opened his briefcase and set out some documents on the table, speaking in a deep voice, "I am sorry for your loss, Miss Carter. Your father was such a good man."

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice quivering. Why did we need a lawyer for discussions concerning money?

"The situation is quite a bit more complex than Richard has led you to believe," Thomas continued. "The construction company alone owes considerable debt to numerous creditors. The house is heavily leveraged; without your father's income stream, there is no cash flow."

Spread across the table were these papers, incomprehensible and overwhelming. Massive amounts jumped out at me, causing nausea to rise within me.

"So," Thomas began, "let me be clear about this—your family has eight weeks before foreclosure procedures begin and your sister's tuition is due in six weeks. This also comes with your mother's medical bills."

My head started to spin. Eight weeks. We had eight weeks before we lost everything.

"But," Richard said, his hand falling gently on my shoulder, "I may have found a solution. It will resolve the existing predicament through unconventional means."

I so badly wanted to trust him. How could five years of knowing him and benefiting from his fatherly kindness be irrelevant? His gray eyes met mine with that calm yet lurking concern, which addressed my fears one by one and was so powerful that my skin prickled with discomfort.

"What is this solution?"

Upon hearing my question, Thomas looked Richard right in the eye. A strange look, and it left me all the more uneasy.

"There is a businessman," Richard replied carefully, "a wealthy man, and he is in need of a wife. Temporarily."

It was only then that the words started to make sense to me. I stared at him, waiting for the jest, for him to explain what he really meant. But he continued, his expression stayed very serious and devoid of any lightness.

"Excuse me?" Grace stepped forward but kept her voice low, "Are you honestly proposing—"

"A business marriage," Thomas interrupted in his smooth voice. "It's not a union of romance, merely an arrangement. The gentleman requires a wife to secure his inheritance. He pays the family's mortgage in exchange and covers Grace's education in medical school."

The room spun before my eyes. This couldn't be happening. People don't just buy wives. It was the twenty-first century, not some medieval nightmare.

"That's insane," I said, my voice getting louder. "You're talking about human trafficking. That's illegal.”

"It is all legal," Thomas assured me, pulling another file folder from a briefcase. "A marriage contract with terms and conditions specified therein. As a wife, you would be married for one year, during which time you would live in his home and perform the social duties of a wife. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?" I laughed bitterly. "You want me to sell myself to some stranger for money. How might that be different from prostitution?"

Richard tightened his hold on my shoulder. "Izzy, please. This isn't anywhere near the kind of situation you're thinking of. The man is a gentleman, and a respected businessman. All he needs is a wife to satisfy the terms of a grandfather's will."

"And what happens to her when that year is up?" Grace pressed.

Thomas continued, "She receives a large settlement and is free to divorce him. Who knows, maybe finishing her architecture degree and starting a firm. This kind of money guarantees opportunities she might have never obtained."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to wipe all those papers off the table and curse both of them. But then my eyes moved to Mom, just sitting there like a broken doll, while the dreams of Grace to become a doctor were about to be shattered.

I don't remember asking, "Who is he?"

"Damian Blackwood," Richard said. "He owns Blackwood Industries, one of the biggest construction firms on the East Coast. Recently widowed, he has six months now to marry or lose the inheritance."

The name rang a bell; I just couldn't shut it down. "How do you know him?"

"We have done business together. He is a good man, Izzy. Cold, maybe, but honorable. He would never hurt you."

"How do you know?"

Richard smiled warm yet paternal. "Because I know you, sweetheart. I would never put you in danger. You're like a daughter to me."

The words should have been comforting, but instead, they felt like ice in my veins. There was something about this, something I couldn't quite see. Everything felt just a bit too planned, too neat.

I need to think, I spoke while I jumped up, shaking off Richard's hand from my shoulder.

Thomas gathered his things. "Of course. But, unfortunately, tomorrow is the deadline. The answer has to come to Mr. Blackwood by tomorrow evening."

"Tomorrow?" cried Grace. "You're asking her to make a life-changing decision in less than twenty-four hours?"

Richard murmured an apology. "But these are unusual circumstances. Mr. Blackwood is a busy man and has alternatives. If Izzy is not interested, he needs to look for some other arrangements."

Other arrangements. Other women are desperate enough to sell themselves for money. The thought turned my stomach.

"I want to meet him first!" I snapped. "If you expect me to marry him, then I want to see him face to face."

For a moment, Richard hesitated, ever so slightly. I could have imagined it. "I'm afraid not. Mr. Blackwood is very private, and he prefers to keep the business side of this matter until after the ceremony."

"Then I say no." I crossed my arms, trying to seem confident, though I felt quite the opposite. "I will not marry someone I have never met."

"Izzy," Grace whispered, "maybe we should consider—"

"No." I turned to her, seeing the desperation in her eyes. "I won't be sold like cattle. There has to be another way."

Richard asked gently, "What other way? Your father's life insurance barely covers the funeral costs. The bank will foreclose in eight weeks. Grace will have to drop out of school. Your mother..." He gestured toward Mom, who was staring into space. "She needs professional help, expensive help. Where else will you find that kind of money?"

He seemed to almost challenge me with his question. But I knew he was right. Eight weeks from now, we would lose the house. Grace would be forced to abandon her dreams. Mom would completely fall apart. And I would be left to pick together the shattered pieces of our family alone with nothing but my own inadequacy.

After this calm drifted in for a bit, I asked quietly, "How much?"

Thomas replied: "Enough to wipe out the mortgage, cover Grace's tuition for all four years, and take care of your mother." Over and above that, a generous allowance during the marriage, plus a settlement of five million dollars upon its termination.

Five million dollars. The sum was so daunting that it no longer made sense. I could save my family with that sort of money and still have a future. I could finish my architecture degree, start my own firm, and maybe even help other families avoid the trap we'd fallen into.

But it also meant one year of my life was gone. It meant marrying a total stranger. It meant becoming someone's property, albeit for a year only.

I said once more, "I need to think about this."

"Of course," Richard said as he got up. "But, Izzy, please remember—this is your father's legacy at stake. He spent an entire life building it for you girls. Don't let his sacrifice mean nothing."

The words struck me like a slap. Dad had worked himself to death for us, and now I was being asked to sacrifice myself to save what he had built. By all appearances, it was a cruel jest—but somehow it seemed the only way I could honor him.

After Richard and Thomas had departed, I stayed in Dad's study, surrounded by what remained of his life. His reading glasses lay on the desk beside the unfinished crossword puzzle. The walls were lined with photographs of the family—birthdays and graduations and the simple moments that felt so solid.

An hour later, Grace found me there, tears pouring down her face.

"I can't let you do this," she said as she sat down across from me. "I can't let you sacrifice your life for mine."

"It's not only for you," I said. "It's for all of us. Mom needs help, and you deserve to go to medical school.

"Dad would want you to be happy," Grace cut in. "Dad would want you to find someone who loves you, not someone who's buying you."

"Maybe right now happiness is a luxury we can't afford.”

Grace remained silent for a long time. She said, "What if this Damian Blackwood turns out to be a complete jerk? What if he's cruel and abusive or--"

"I'll survive it," I said shakily but with more confidence than I felt. "It's just for a year. I can survive anything for a year."

But even as I said the words, I thought there was some truth in them. Did I really want to marry a stranger? To share a house with someone who considered me nothing more than a business transaction?

The phone rang, both of us shocked. Grace answered it, corporeal; her complexion lightened as she listened.

"It's the hospital," she whispered, putting her hand over the phone. "Mom... She tried to hurt herself. They're bringing her in now."

My heart broke. With all my calculations about what I could afford to lose, I had missed out on the most important one: we couldn't afford to lose each other.

"Tell them we are coming," I said, snatching up my keys.

As we sped towards the emergency room, all I could think about was what Richard had said. This is your father's legacy. Perhaps he had a point. Perhaps this was the sacrifice that would keep the last remnant of our family together.

The hospital was exactly as it sounds: clean hallways and worried faces. The doctor told us Mom has really stabilized, but she had an overdose of her antidepressants. More a cry for help than a serious suicide attempt, but it would still be preceded by a bright warning.

Sitting beside her bed and watching her sleep, I made my decision. I called Richard from the parking lot of the hospital.

"I'll do it." I said when he answered. "I'll marry Damian Blackwood."

""Are you really sure of this darling? That's a big step."" ""I'm certain." It tasted like ash in my mouth. "What next?""

"I'll arrange everything. The wedding will be next week-small, private, just the necessary legal formalities. Then you'll move into his home."

"Will I be able to see my family?"

"Of course. Part of the deal is that you'll be able to visit them regularly. Mr. Blackwood understands the importance of family."

It was an almost laughable irony. A man who was buying a wife understood the importance of family.

"Richard." I broke a little. "Promise me he's a good man. Promise me he won't hurt me."

"I promise, Izzy. I would never let anything happen to you."

The line went quiet for a beat and then Richard spoke again, his voice strangely different. "There's just one more thing," he said. "Mr. Blackwood prefers to keep the arrangement completely confidential. You can't tell anyone, not your family, not your friends, about the true nature of marriage."

"What should I tell them?"

"'You met him through me, fell in love quickly, and decided to elope. People will think it's romantic, brilliant, no one will question it.'"

That was the only way it felt like I'm being pressed under. Not only was I selling myself, but I had to lie to every single loved one about it.

"I understand," I said.

"Good. I'll be in touch with the details soon, and, Izzy? You're doing the right thing. Your father would be proud."

When I hung up the phone, I caught my reflection in the hospital window. I looked like a stranger to myself-hollow-eyed, desperate, defeated. In one week, I would become Mrs. Damian Blackwood, wife to a man I'd never met, living a lie that would save my family and destroy my soul.

But as I looked back at the hospital where my mother lay broken and medicated, I knew I didn't have a choice. I walked back inside to tell Grace the good news about our sudden salvation, the words already forming on my lips about how I'd found love in the midst of tragedy.

The lie came easier than I expected and that is what kind of scared me about this path I was on.

I'm about to change into someone else entirely, and I'm not sure that I will ever find my way back to being who I really am.