CHAPTER FIVE — Things That Break Quietly
682 Words
The thing about bad news is that it rarely comes alone.
By lunchtime, I had:
a warning email from the bank,
three missed calls from my landlord, and
a voice note from my mother that started with “Amara, I don’t want to worry you but—”
Spoiler: she worried me.
I sat in the tiny break room, the world’s saddest sandwich untouched in front of me, listening to her voice crackle through the cheap phone speaker.
“…they said if we can’t complete the payment this week, they’ll move your sister’s surgery date again,” she was saying. “I didn’t want to disturb you at work, but they sounded serious this time…”
My stomach clenched.
I knew that tone. I grew up in that tone. The one that tried to sound calm while the world burned quietly in the background.
I replayed that part three times before stopping the message.
“Bad day?” someone asked.
I startled.
Ethan from accounting stood in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, tie slightly crooked like it always was after noon. He gave me a half-smile that was more genuine than I could handle.
“I’m fine,” I lied automatically.
“You’re staring at a wall like it insulted your ancestors,” he said. “So… I’m going to guess no.”
Despite myself, I huffed out a tiny laugh.
He leaned against the counter. “You know, you’re allowed to not be okay sometimes. I checked the handbook.”
“I’d prefer to stay employed.”
“Fair point.”
He took a sip of his coffee. “You’ve been working like three people lately. Do they know that?”
“They?” I echoed.
He nodded toward Leon’s office, visible through the break-room glass. “Him.”
“He knows more than I’d like him to,” I muttered.
Ethan raised a brow. “That sounded ominous.”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re bad at lying,” he said mildly. “For what it’s worth, you’re one of the few people here who doesn’t treat him like a god or a ghost. That probably counts for something.”
I thought of the marriage contract.
“Oh, it counts,” I said under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just… "too much caffeine.”
He studied me for another second, then pushed an unopened packet of cookies toward me.
“Here,” he said. “In case your day continues to be trash. Sugar helps.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice softer than before.
When I returned to my desk, a new email sat at the top of my inbox.
From: Legal Department
Subject: Confidential: Advanced Contract Draft
I didn’t have to open it to know what it was.
I opened it anyway.
Page after page of clean, clinical language.
Terms. Conditions. Asset protections. Confidentiality clauses.
And then, buried halfway:
Party A (Leon Mercer) agrees to assume full legal and financial responsibility for the outstanding medical and educational debts of Party B’s immediate family for the duration of the contract.
My breath caught.
He hadn’t mentioned that part.
Party B (Amara Blake) agrees to fulfill the role of legal spouse in both public and private spheres, excluding any obligation of physical intimacy, which shall remain at the discretion and mutual consent of both parties.
Heat rushed to my cheeks even though I was alone.
He… clarified that?
I scrolled further.
End date: one year from signing.
Exit clauses. There was no penalty to me if either of us terminated early for breach.
It was terrifying and gentle all at once.
My phone buzzed again, dragging me out of the text.
This time, it was my sister.
Tasha:
They said I might lose my spot, Ama.
If we don’t finish paying this part, they’ll give the date to someone else.
Don’t tell Mom I texted you.
I know you’re working. I just…
I’m scared.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
Some choices don’t feel like choices at all.
- Writer
