Elena grew up in a poor household on the outskirts of Lisbon. Her parents died when she was very young, so she was raised by her grandmother. After finishing ninth grade, Elena dropped out of school and followed a neighbor to the city to work in a factory. Her life revolved around endless 12-hour shifts, cold lunch boxes, damp rented rooms, and a few worn-out clothes.
At the age of 22, Elena met Mr. Hugo through an arrangement between their families. He was almost forty years older—a widower with a son who probably lived abroad. People whispered that despite his age, he was rich: he owned several houses, and if Elena agreed to marry him, he would pay her grandmother’s hospital bills, settle their debts, and even buy her the scooter she had always dreamed of.
Elena hesitated.
Mr. Hugo’s hair was almost white, his skin lined with deep wrinkles, his body frail—yet his voice remained calm and steady. When they first met, he asked her directly:
“Are you afraid of marrying an old man?”
Elena didn’t know how to answer. She just forced a shy smile.
Their wedding was small and quiet – just a few tables of food and a few relatives. Elena didn’t invite any friends; she was too embarrassed.
On their wedding night, Elena sat trembling on the bed. Fear filled her – fear that he would touch her, fear of the smell of ointment and old age. When Mr. Hugo came in and turned off the light, she pretended to be asleep. She pulled the blanket to her neck, her heart pounding, and prayed that he would not come near her.
Then she heard him sigh, the soft creaking of the bed as he lay down next to her. And then… something unexpected happened.
Her pulse quickened—she thought the nightmare was about to begin. But instead, his breathing became uneven, and he reached for a thick envelope with trembling hands.
“El… Elena,” he whispered weakly, “I don’t want to hurt you. I just have to tell you the truth before it’s too late.”
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