My parents invited me to dinner with a strange man and a preacher. I arrived. They handed me a contract.
“Sign it. You’re getting married. Tonight.”
I looked at it and said, “This isn’t a marriage. This is a sale.”
My dad blocked the door. The man snapped, “Are we doing this or not? I didn’t drive forty minutes for a discussion.”
My name is Jessica Archer. I’m twenty-seven years old. And last Friday night, my parents invited me over for dinner, then locked the door, sat me down across from a man I had never met, slid a marriage contract in front of me, and said, “This is happening tonight.”
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