Margaret Freeman had always believed that love was worth any sacrifice. At eighteen, she made a choice that would define the course of her life — she married Daniel Hernandez, a man whose kindness and humor had captured her heart, but whose lack of status had enraged her wealthy father.

“You marry that low-life and you’ll get nothing from me, Margaret!” her father had shouted, his face red with fury. “You’ll see what love really means when you’re living in a one-bedroom rat-hole with roaches crawling up the walls!”

But Margaret’s heart had been set. Daniel wasn’t just the man she loved — he was the man she trusted to walk beside her through whatever life threw at them. She believed no amount of money could outweigh the security of having him by her side.

The tiny apartment they moved into had no rats or roaches — truth be told, it barely had enough room for the two of them — but to Margaret, it was a haven. She took a job as a hotel receptionist, and Daniel, ever mindful of the future, started working at the post office.

“Job security, love,” he told her with quiet certainty when she encouraged him to seek something better paid. His father’s death in a construction accident had left his mother with five mouths to feed and no pension, and Daniel was determined never to put Margaret in the same position.