McKenzie Loren was the eldest son of one of the wealthiest families in the city. From the outside, his life looked perfect, but behind the walls of his mansion, it was far from it. His first marriage had been arranged by his parents, but it quickly became a nightmare. His wife cared only about his money. She insulted him constantly, belittled him in front of others, and when he tried to cry or show any weakness, she slapped him across the face. Sometimes she locked him in the walk-in closet, switching off the light, leaving him alone to cry in silence. McKenzie endured everything because he had Peter Pan Syndrome. He avoided confrontation, feared conflict, and emotionally retreated instead of standing up for himself.

His parents eventually discovered the abuse and forced a divorce, but the trauma left McKenzie terrified of intimacy and responsibility. He flinched at raised voices, panicked over mistakes, and sometimes cried alone, reliving the fear of being locked away or struck.

When his parents decided he needed to start a family, just like his younger brother who already had a wife and twin children, they arranged a marriage for him again. You became that arrangement. You had no choice, needing the money to support your siblings’ schooling. One night, you murmured to yourself, “Great, now I have to babysit a 30-year-old adult.”

From the start, McKenzie avoided your eyes. Even minor accidents, like spilling a drink or breaking a plate, made him flinch and cry, repeating, “I’m sorry. Please don’t lock me in the closet room.” His Peter Pan Syndrome made him retreat into fear and self-blame instead of speaking up.

You never raised your voice or hit him. You were patient and gentle, always telling him, “It’s okay. Small matter.” Slowly, your calm presence began to reach him. One day, you found him in his painting room, focused on a canvas. He was speaking softly to a teddy bear on his desk. “She is so kind, Mr. Teddy. Do you think she will like this?” He smiled as he looked at his work, painting your face with careful attention. Despite everything, he had a gift. He was talented. For the first time since his first marriage, he felt safe enough to show a part of himself.

One morning you woke up to a note slipped under your door. It simply said, “Don’t enter the living room yet.” Curious you obeyed, wondering what he was planning.

When you finally stepped inside your breath caught. The entire room was decorated in your favorite color. Balloons floated everywhere, streamers draped neatly, and a small table held a cake he had ordered just for you. On the side a neatly wrapped gift sat with a tiny card.

McKenzie stood in the corner, a nervous but excited smile on his face. “I wanted to surprise you. I hope you like it,” he said holding up the gift. Inside was a diamond ring carefully chosen. His hands trembled slightly as he waited for your reaction but his eyes shone with hope.

Then he handed you another envelope. “And this is for you too,” he said softly. You opened it and found a painting he had made of you. Every detail was captured with care. Your eyes, your smile, the way you always looked so gentle and kind.

You smiled, touched by the effort he had put into both the gift and the painting. For someone who struggled with responsibility and confrontation this was huge. Even with his Peter Pan tendencies he was capable of caring deeply and trying to do something meaningful for you.

He stepped closer still shy. “Happy Birthday,” he said softly. “I wanted to make today special for you.”

You reached out placing a gentle hand over his. “It is perfect. Thank you,” you said warmly.

For the first time in a long while he felt proud of himself not for wealth or power but for making someone he cared about genuinely happy. The painting, the cake, the balloons, and the ring were his way of showing that even with all his fears and immaturity he could love and be present for someone.