The story of how a woman met her husband is probably the most intriguing tale she could ever hope to tell. Some can be hilarious; some can be romantic; and some can be both with a big splash of serendipity. While most stories are ones to be proud of, I can honestly say that the way I met Atticus Finch was down right shameful. When I met Atticus, he was a thirty-one year old, already big shot laywer and I was a sixteen year old, underage hooker. I wasn't really a certifiable one but I would go on the dates that my bonafide prostitute older sister, Rose Ellen, didn't want. The memory of that night makes me cringe...

I was sixteen and anything but sweet. I stood outside my sister's Montgomery apartment complex/ office wearing nothing but a low-cut red dress, make-up, and a pout. My sister didn't tell me exactly who I was meeting but I figured it was just another teenage hopeful she wanted to wear off. These boys who come from dignified families and whose father's pay for services like my sister has to offer. They figure as well as I do: they were family and they just simply didn't know any better.

I remember the night had grown cold and I wished I had brought a shawl or something. The only thing I had to keep my warm was a pack of cigarettes and a matchbox. The fire of the match barely had time to meet the tip of my first cigarette as I saw a car drive up. I shook off the lit match and stomped on it with my heel before I confidently strolled up to the passenger seat. I stood frozen in my tracks as I peered in and realized he was much older than I anticipated. What the hell did I do to piss my sister off? I inhaled deeply as I collected myself and opened the door.

"Atticus?" I asked before I took a seat.

"Get in the car," he said, coldly. He didn't even look at me let alone smile at me. I got in the car anyway; all the while thinking of my half-night's pay I would get by morning.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Home," he replied, still not looking at me.

"Home?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Caroline!"

That was when he turned around to look at me. He was as shocked as I was to see him. Who was Caroline? I know my sister wouldn't have told him my name but hers and her name was Rose Ellen.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said as he patted my knee. "You're not Caroline Finch at all, are you?"

"No, sir," I replied. "My name is Jean Graham. Sorry I'm not even Rose Ellen. Hey, did you say Caroline Finch?"

"Oh, so do you know her?"

"No but isn't your name Finch, too?"

"Yes. Caroline is my little sister."

"Ewww," I said as I made a dash for the door handle.

"What's the matter?"

"Sir, I've met some real perverts in my small time but you not only take the cake but the whole bakery."

"Wait," he said as he gently stopped me from getting out of the car. "I'm from a small town north of here and my little sister has run away. The only thing she said is that she would be in Montgomery and I've come to find her."

"Oh," I said as I slumped back in my seat. I could tell by the hurt in his voice and in his eyes that he was totally sincere. I felt bad for him and relieved for myself at the same time.

"So," I breathed. "You just want to find your sister?"

"That's correct."

"You don't want me?"

"Honey, I don't mean to be rude but you're the last person I would want services from if I were to want any. You're as young as my sister, sweet. I think that's sad."

"I'm sixteen," I said, as if my confession was really going to help.

"Worse than I thought: Caroline is seventeen."

"Oh," I responded, embarrassed.

"Where are your parents, honey?"

"I have parents. They don't know that I do this; they just know that I spend the weekends with my sister. They don't know about her, either."

"So you go to school?"

"Yes, I go to a private boarding school for girls a couple of blocks up."

"And this is what you do for fun?"

"I wouldn't say fun but it is money and everyone likes money."

He was not impressed with my answers. I don't know why it took this man looking for his sister to make me realize how pathetic my life was. He dug into his wallet and brought forth two one hundred dollar bills. I gasped out loud as he handed them both to me.

"One is for your sister and one is for you," he said.

"What are you doing? This is crazy!"

"No it's not if you keep your promise to me."

"A promise?"

"That you will turn your life around when I see you again."

"See me again?"

"I come to Montgomery quite often for work. I have a feeling fate has something going here."

"I think you're crazy," I tell him as I kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, though."

"You're welcome," he said as I stepped out of the car.

"Hey," I said before shutting the door. "I hope you find your sister okay."

"I hope so, too. Remember what I told you."

I don't know why but I was at a loss for words and I couldn't speak. I just shut the door and smiled as he drove off. My sister would never know about the extra one hundred dollars he gave me. I snuck into the apartment while she was away on call and I wrote a note to tell her I was quitting and I would pay her one hundred dollards in full. I never looked back.

We did meet again as he predicted: I was working as a secretary in the same law office building he used when he was in town for legislature work. I was nineteen by then and he was thirty-four but that didn't stop sparks from flying. The man who saved my sixteen year old self is now my thirty year old self's husband. I don't think he will ever know how much he saved my life that night.