My Husband's Son

CAMILLA I woke up that morning with a stupid smile glued to my face. I didn’t even care that my alarm rang twice before I finally got out of bed. Today was my birthday. But not just that, I found out that Dylan was finally going to ask me to be his wife . I had seen the ring last night, when I tried to do his laundry as usual, I opened his drawer looking for his missing socks and saw a small velvet box tucked under one of his shirts. I didn’t open it, barely even breathed, but I saw the gold edge of the box and that was enough. My heart had almost exploded out of my chest. So yes, today was going to be special. I hummed under my breath as I walked into the office. Nothing loud, just soft enough to keep me warm on the inside. Even the weird smell of printer ink and old carpet didn’t irritate me the way it normally did. “Camilla!” Mrs. Brooks barked the moment she saw me, like some kind of angry bulldog in heels. “Organize the files from yesterday. Alphabetically. You messed them up.” I didn’t mess anything up. I knew that. Everyone in the office knew that. But I swallowed the urge to roll my eyes. Today was my birthday. Nothing, not even Mrs. Brooks, would ruin my mood. “Yes, ma’am,” I said sweetly. I even smiled, which confused her for a second. I sat at my desk and started organizing the files again. My foot tapped lightly under the table in excitement. I could imagine Dylan already planning the candles or decorating the living room. Maybe he invited a few friends. Maybe it was just going to be the two of us. I didn’t care. I only cared about him asking. I must have been smiling too much because Maria, my coworker, walked over and leaned on the side of my desk. “Okay, what’s going on?” she asked, raising a brow. “You’re… glowing. And not in the ‘I slept eight hours’ way. More like the ‘I’m high on something’ way.” I laughed quietly. “It’s my birthday.” Her eyes widened. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?” “I didn’t want to make it a big deal,” I said, but I couldn’t hold back the grin. “And I think something special is going to happen today.” She gasped. “Is your boyfriend taking you out? Or wait, is he finally going to propose? You did say you wanted to get married. Oh my God, Camilla..... ” “I didn’t say that!” I slapped her arm, but I couldn’t stop smiling. She didn’t need me to confirm it; I was obviously terrible at hiding things today. Before she could tease me more, Mrs. Brooks yelled again. “Camilla! The coffee you brought me tastes like burnt water. Make another one and don’t ruin it this time.” Maria made a face. “‘Burnt water?’ What does that even.... ” “I got it,” I told her quickly. I grabbed the mug and went to the break room. I remade the coffee. Twice. Then she told me to redo the files again because she “didn’t like the edges.” She sent me to the storage room, the copy room, the reception desk, and back again like she was training me for a marathon. By noon, even humming didn’t help anymore. By 3 p.m., I was quietly praying she would trip on her own heels and take the entire filing cabinet with her. But I held myself together. Proposal. Birthday. Ring. Those were the words I kept repeating like a mantra. Around 6 p.m., I couldn’t take it anymore, I needed to call Dylan, I missed him. He picked up on the second ring, his voice groggy, maybe a little tired. “Hey, babe.” “Hi,” I breathed out, pushing my hair behind my ear. “Listen, I’m still at work. Mrs. Brooks is being… herself today. I might come home late.” “Oh.” He sounded surprised. “How late?” “Maybe nine,” I said, even though I hated the idea. “But I’ll still get the cake, don’t worry.” “That’s fine,” he replied softly. “Take your time.” His voice calmed me. Maybe the delay even worked in his favor, more time to prepare something cute. I imagined a trail of rose petals, or maybe that strawberry scented candle I loved. Something romantic. Something ours. After hanging up, I pushed through the last few hours. I kept telling myself: It will be worth it. Tonight will change everything. Finally, at 9:03 p.m, I left the office. I have never being happier. I didn't want to have to see Mrs Brooks ever again, but the job was the only thing keeping us alive. I stopped at the bakery on the way home. They were almost closing, but they still had one vanilla cake left, Dylan’s favorite. I personally didn’t like vanilla at all, but today wasn’t about my preferences. Today was about making everything perfect for him. Just like I always tried to. Before heading out, I also ducked into the jewelry store and picked up the expensive watch he had been eyeing for months. It drained my account, I even took out a loan even though we’d been arguing about money recently, about him not having a job, about him wanting me to go back to my family so they could “help him.” He had called me selfish which he later apologized for but he didn’t get it. They disowned me. All because I chose him. And I wasn’t going back there. Ever. So I thought… maybe the watch could be a peace offering. A way to say I’m still here. I still choose you. My hands were full by the time I reached our apartment building. Cake box balanced against my hip. Shopping bag swinging from my wrist. My heart beating fast with excitement and nerves and too many dreams. But before I even reached the door, I heard a soft, breathy moan. At first, I froze. My brain refused to make the connection. Maybe it was the neighbors. Maybe the TV was on. Maybe.... Another moan. This one was even more louder and it obviously came from behind my door. My stomach twisted so sharply I almost dropped the cake. No. No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not on my birthday. Not to me. It was too cliche to be happening to me. I swallowed and forced my shaking fingers to push the key into the lock. My chest felt like it was splitting open from the inside. I opened the door and stepped inside, my voice shaking a little bit out of dread. “What are you doing?”