**Diary Entry**
My father married me off to a beggar because I was born blindwhat happened next left everyone speechless.
I never saw the world, but I felt its cruelty with every breath. Born blind into a family that prized beauty above all else, my two sisters, Eleanor and Margaret, were admired for their striking eyes and graceful figures, while I was treated like a burden, a shameful secret hidden behind closed doors. Mother died when I was just five, and Father changed after that. He became bitter, resentfulespecially toward me. He never called me by my name, only “that thing.” I wasnt allowed at the table during meals or near guests. He believed I was cursed, and when I turned twenty-one, he made a decision that shattered what remained of his already broken heart.
One morning, he strode into my tiny room, where I sat quietly tracing my fingers over the braille of a worn book, and dropped a folded piece of cloth onto my lap.
“Youre getting married tomorrow,” he said coldly.
I froze. The words made no sense. Married? To whom?
“A beggar from the church,” he continued. “Youre blind; hes poor. A good match.”
My face drained of colour. I wanted to scream, but no sound came. I had no choice. Father never gave me one.
The next day, I was wed in a small, hasty ceremony. Of course, I never saw his face, and no one dared describe him to me. Father pushed me toward the man and told me to take his arm. I obeyed like a ghost trapped in my own body. People whispered behind cupped hands: “The blind girl and the beggar.” Afterward, Father handed me a small sack with a few clothes and shoved me back toward the man.
“Now shes your problem,” he muttered, walking away without a backward glance.
The beggar, whose name was Thomas, led me silently down the road. For a long while, he said nothing. We reached a crumbling cottage at the edge of the village, smelling of damp earth and smoke.
“Its not much,” he said gently. “But youll be safe here.”
I sat on an old mat inside, holding back tears. This was to be my lifea blind girl, wed to a beggar, in a cottage built of mud and hope.
But that first night, something strange happened.
Thomas brewed tea with careful hands. He gave me his coat and slept by the door like a watchful hound guarding a queen. He spoke to me as if he truly caredasked what stories I loved, what dreams I had, which foods made me smile. No one had ever asked before.
Days turned to weeks. Thomas walked with me each morning to the river, describing the sun, the birds, and the trees so poetically I began to see them through his words. He sang while I washed clothes and told me stories of stars and far-off lands at night. For the first time in years, I laughed. My heart began to open. And in that strange little cottage, something unexpected happenedI fell in love.
One afternoon, as I reached for his hand, I asked, “Were you always a beggar?”
He hesitated. Then, softly, “Not always.”
But he never said more. And I never pressed him.
Until the day I went alone to the market for vegetables. Thomas had given me careful directions, and I memorised each step. But halfway there, someone grabbed my arm roughly.
“Blind mouse!” hissed a voice. It was my sister, Eleanor. “Still alive? Still pretending to be a beggars wife?”
Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to break. “Im happy,” I said.
Eleanor laughed cruelly. “You dont even know what he looks like. Hes filth. Just like you.”
Then she whispered something that shattered my heart.
“Hes no beggar. Youve been deceived.”
I returned home in turmoil. I waited until dusk, and when Thomas came back, I demanded, “Tell me the truth. Who are you really?”
He knelt before me, took my hands, and said, “You werent supposed to know yet. But I cant lie anymore.”
His heart raced. He took a deep breath.
“Im not a beggar. Im the son of an earl.”
The world spun as I tried to grasp his words. “The son of an earl.” My mind replayed every momenthis kindness, quiet strength, the stories too vivid for a beggarand now I understood. He had never been a beggar. Father hadnt married me to a pauper, but to a lord in disguise.
I sat down, legs failing me. My heart tore between love and pain. Thomas knelt beside me.
“I never meant to hurt you. I came to the village in disguise because I was tired of women who loved a title, not the man. I heard of the blind girl cast aside by her father. I watched you for weeks before asking for your hand, pretending to be a beggar. I knew hed say yeshe wanted rid of you.”
Tears streamed down my face. The pain of Fathers rejection mixed with disbelief that someone would go so far for a heart as true as mine.
“So what now?” I whispered.
Thomas held my hand gently. “Now you come with me, to my world, to the estate.”
“But Im blind. How can I be a lady?”
“You already are,” he replied tenderly.
The next morning, a carriage arrived outside the cottage. Guards in black and gold bowed to Thomas and me. Clutching his arm, I stepped toward the manor.
A crowd had gathered by the time we arrived. People gasped at the return of the missing heirand more so at the blind girl beside him. Thomass mother, the countess, studied me a long while. But I curtsied with quiet grace. Thomas stood firm beside me and declared,
“This is my wifethe woman I chose, the one who saw my soul when no one else did.”
The countess was silent. Then she embraced me. “Then she is my daughter.” I nearly collapsed with relief. Thomas squeezed my hand and whispered,
“I told you. Youre safe.”
That night, standing at the manor window, I listened to the sounds of my new life. In a single day, I had gone from “that thing” locked in darkness to a wife, a lady, a woman loved not for beauty, but for her soul.
The next morning, I was summoned before the court. Nobles and dignitaries filled the hall. Some sneered as I entered on Thomass arm, but I held my head high. Then came the unexpected turn.
Thomas stood before them all and announced,
“I will not take my title until my wife is honoured here. If she is not accepted, I will walk away with her.”
A murmur rippled through the room. My heart pounded. I looked at him and whispered,
“Youd truly give up your title for me?”
He met my gaze fiercely. “I already did. Id do it again.”
The countess rose. “Let it be known: from this moment, she is not just your wife. She is Lady Charlotte of this house. To slight her is to slight the crown.”
