"Maggie, did you just find some back-alley operation to make a fake certificate, then try to fool me with it?" Arya Stark was still unconvinced, examining the marriage certificate for its authenticity over and over.
Pointing to the official seal, Maggie said, "Mom, it's issued by the marriage registry office—guaranteed genuine."
"And where's my son-in-law? Why didn't you bring him over to meet your mother?" Arya glanced toward the door and added, "I only wanted you to date, get to know someone first before anything serious. But you went ahead and got married without even understanding who he is."
"Don't you know everything already? He works at Visionary Futures Group, he's thirty, doing quite well for himself, and he’s good-looking..." Maggie's thoughts drifted to the times she spent with Fiorello and she said, "He seems gentle, and with both of his parents gone, no brothers or sisters, his family situation is simple, not a lot of drama."
The lack of potential mother-in-law issues was a plus.
It took Arya a long while to digest the news. Clutching the marriage certificate, she didn't know if pressuring her daughter into marriage had been right after all.
How could she not understand that Maggie had been coerced, that she had rushed into marriage just to make her happy?
Arya had been diagnosed with cancer and had kept it a secret from Maggie. Since Maggie's last relationship had ended, she'd been reluctant to date anyone.
Arya worried that if she died, Maggie would be left alone, without anyone to care for her or help her with life's challenges, without someone to cherish her.
That's why Arya pushed Maggie to go on dates, to find a reliable man, to have a family.
Now that it was a done deal, lamenting over it wouldn't change anything.
"Maggie, have my son-in-law come by the house," Arya said after settling down. "You may be married, but I still need to vet him."
"Okay, I'll ask him, and we can have dinner together tomorrow." Maggie said, "Mom, I'm going to set up the stall now. It's hot outside, and you're not well, so please rest at home and don't go out."
After repeatedly making sure her mother understood, Maggie packed her things to set up her stall.
Maggie’s stall was at the night market on Elm Street, where she sold handmade crafts, including jewelry of her own creation.
To support her vendor business, she had bought a used van, arriving punctually at five every evening and not packing up until eleven at night.
On good months, she could make about six thousand dollars, which was more than enough to make a living in the pricey city.
Maggie trained as a jewelry designer. A few years ago, an incident made her persona non grata in the jewelry business, and no company would hire her. Deciding to take the bull by the horns, she launched her own venture.
Maggie had set up her stall as the night market buzzed to life. Amidst the hubbub, she found a moment to send a message to Fiorello.
Maggie: [My mom wants to meet you. Free for dinner tomorrow?]
The message sent vanished without a trace, much like a stone sinking into the ocean.
Business picked up shortly after, and Maggie got swept up in the hustle, the message not weighing on her mind too heavily.
Luck was on her side that evening. Maggie pocketed over two hundred dollars by the time she closed down her stall at eleven sharp.
Settled in her van, she counted the day's earnings when her phone chimed.
It was Fiorello replying, "sorry, I'm on a business trip to City A. I'll be back in a few days. Let's arrange dinner when I return."
Maggie understood the demands of a corporate job, with business trips being all too familiar. She replied succinctly, "Okay."
Packing up and heading home didn't change much in her life, apart from having an extra marriage certificate. Her routine was so unchanged that for the next few days, her busy early mornings and late nights made her almost forget she had a husband.
One rainy night, after another long shift, she didn't get back until midnight, and her car broke down right in front of the house.
Maggie, holding an umbrella, got out to inspect the vehicle. This second-hand car was no stranger to trouble, but while it had no major issues, the minor ones were plentiful.
Despite the frequent need for repairs, buying a new car was out of the question—it would cost her half a year's income. So, she would fix it up each time and keep it running.
After a quick check, the thought of paying the repair shop a few hundred dollars more made her heart ache.
With the neighborhood still a hundred meters away, the rain intensified, and, given the late hour, she had no choice but to leave her van on the roadside. She ventured to the back to retrieve her goods under the protective spread of her umbrella.
She needed to bring back unsold jewelry for further touches, and also some pieces given to her for repairs which she was determined to finish that night.
The wind roared, and Maggie struggled, umbrella in one hand and a large box in the other, half-drenched, and looking quite miserable.
Unbeknownst to Maggie, not far off, Fiorello, just back from City A, witnessed the entire spectacle from his Rolls-Royce.
Maggie's silhouette appeared fragile, as if a gust could carry her away, yet there was a resolve about her, an unstoppability not even the hardest rain could wash away. The wind snatched her umbrella away, soaking her completely. Clutching the box and bowing her head, she trudged on towards her apartment complex.
She was one of the city's least significant characters, always having to bear the brunt of life's storms on her own.
Touched at heart, Fiorello grabbed an umbrella and said to the driver, "Head back to the old mansion." Afterwards, he stepped out of the vehicle and walked briskly towards Maggie.