I got married at 27, and he was 38. My entire family initially opposed the relationship, not because he was bad, but because… he was too courteous. My mother even whispered, “A man his age who is still single must have some kind of issue. You should reconsider.” My friends told me, “Well, accept the fact that marrying an older man means being spoiled, but don’t expect too much regarding children.”

At the time, I shared their concerns. Marrying a man nearing 40, I thought he’d be “weak,” that our intimate life wouldn’t be as desired, and having children would be difficult. But I liked him for his kindness. He took care of me in the smallest details, like tying my shoelaces, choosing low-oil food, and using warm water for me when I had a stomach ache. The thing I got from him was a sense of safety. As for the other matter, I thought… it depends on fate.

Our wedding wasn’t overly grand, but it was full of teasing comments I still remember today: “Keep it up, groom, easy start, easy finish!” “Wishing the couple a baby soon!” “You’re nearly 40, hurry up while you still can!” Everyone laughed, and I blushed. And him? He just offered a faint smile. At the end of the reception, he even reminded people not to drink and drive, as it was dangerous. My heart warmed.

But on our wedding night, all the assumptions I ever had about him completely crumbled. It wasn’t because he was “different from what I imagined” in an aggressively passionate way. It was because he stopped. In the midst of the building tension, and after I had mentally prepared for three months, he looked at me, pulled the blanket up, and said exactly five words:

“No rush, let’s have children.”

I froze. No rush? Let’s have children? The sentence sounded logically backwards. I thought he “wasn’t confident enough” and was trying to avoid things. But he looked me in the eyes, his voice calm and utterly clear:

“Children are not a pressure. Let’s focus on loving each other first, and be parents second.”

Hearing that, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The man whom society thought was “old, weak, and out of luck” was the one asking to take things slow, not rush the baby issue. How many young, strong guys out there just hope their wives get pregnant as soon as possible after the wedding to prove their manhood? But he said:

“I don’t want you to have a child because someone is pushing you, or because you’re afraid of my age. I want it to be the result of our happiness.”

I didn’t answer. I just felt my heart melting into a soft embrace, not with arms, but with emotion. After that night, I discovered he wasn’t “weak,” but extremely… responsible. He kept the rhythm, asked about my needs, and always paid attention to my feelings. Every time we were intimate, he would ask: “Are you comfortable?” “If you’re tired, let’s just sleep.”

A month later, I missed my period. He was the one who ran out to buy a pregnancy test. He even bought the most expensive one and placed it on the table like a victory trophy. When the test showed two bright red lines, he didn’t cheer, or jump up and down like in the movies. He just hugged me, leaned his chin on my shoulder, and said:

“Thank you for becoming the mother of our child.”

I was the one who cried. I cried because it turned out I had been judgmental, treating him as someone who was “past his prime,” “lucky to get anyone he could,” and “getting married just to manage to have a baby in time.” Yet, the truly mature person was him. And me, a decade younger, still had such naive thoughts as getting pregnant because I was afraid of what people would say about my single status.

Four months into the pregnancy, he cared for me like a midwife. My 38-year-old husband attended prenatal classes, bought a blood pressure monitor, and found a doctor to ask about nutrition for pregnant women. He even made notes on his phone: “Don’t let the pregnant wife lie on her back for too long. Reduce salt in seasoning. Get into the habit of talking to the baby.” Once, I joked:

“I thought marrying an older man meant being spoiled, but I didn’t expect to be spoiled with structured care like being in a VIP class.”

He laughed:

“If I’m old, I have to compensate with knowledge. How can I raise a child if I’m not smart?”

I realized that getting married is not about choosing age, appearance, or the reputation of being “strong or weak.” Getting married is choosing a person who knows how to be responsible when you are carrying a small life. Choosing a person who dares to say “don’t rush,” even when the whole world is urging you to “hurry up.”

To me, the five-word sentence on our wedding night was not a word of delay. It was a commitment.

“No rush, let’s have children.” It means: he chose me before choosing to be a father. And that is what makes me believe that my child will not only have a father but a decent man to learn how to be a human being.