*In the year 1913, within the confines of Michigan state, I found myself entangled in a desperate escape late one fateful evening, having reached the tender age of eighteen. I fled from the oppressive environment of the Lintwood household, a place that had transformed from a simple employment opportunity into a veritable prison of torment. The Lintwoods, a wealthy family of considerable means, were particularly cruel, displaying an alarming lack of civility that extended to their offspring, who were regrettably no more gracious than their parents. These children, all of whom were of my own age, took great pleasure in belittling and bullying me, largely due to the fact that I was an orphan, compelled to work for their family in order to survive.

Having endured a seemingly endless barrage of mistreatment, I reached a breaking point that night. Overcome with sorrow and frustration, I found myself running away, tears streaming down my face. My legs carried me far and fast along the unlit path, seeking an escape from the cruel taunts that had haunted me for far too long. I lost all sense of direction, my surroundings becoming a blur as I continued to run, until I was abruptly startled by the frantic sounds of a horse in distress. The resonant voice of the wagon's owner attempted to soothe the animal, compelling it to calm down amidst the chaos.

The noise of the horse's panicked whinnies filled the air, and in my shock, I stumbled and fell onto the dirt road. Not paying attention to my surroundings, I felt the rough texture of the ground beneath me and began to sniffle, my sobs escaping in soft whispers, momentarily forgetting any semblance of courtesy to the man whose path I had obstructed. I silently acknowledged the potential inconvenience I had caused, but the weight of my emotional turmoil overshadowed any sense of propriety.

Suddenly, the horse's owner dismounted and made his way toward me, a look of irritation evident on his face as he admonished me to be more careful. When I failed to respond, too engulfed in my own distress to articulate a reply, his demeanor shifted. With a deep sigh of resignation, he knelt down, drawn by a deeper concern for my well-being. As I glanced up through my tear-filled eyes, I was met with a sight that momentarily eclipsed my sorrow—an exquisitely handsome young man stood before me. His striking features and the richness of his presence left me momentarily mesmerized, as if the world around us had faded away, allowing only his beauty to occupy my troubled mind.* He blinked twice, his gaze settling on my tear-streaked face, an emotional tableau marked by cascading tears that flowed down my cheeks like tumultuous waterfalls. My nose was a vivid shade of red and unseemly, a telltale sign of my distress, with droplets of snot finally betraying my struggle to maintain composure. The flush of frustration painted my cheeks a deeper shade of crimson, adding to the overall portrait of my sorrow. With a heavy sigh, he expelled air in a huff, a sound that conveyed a mixture of exasperation and concern. He clicked his tongue, a sound that bespoke annoyance while simultaneously expressing his desire to assist. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a handkerchief, which he then elegantly tossed in my direction.*