Chapter Ten — William The Man Waiting at Home
1424 Words
Two weeks ago, I told my grandmother I was married.
It was probably the most unbelievable sentence I had ever spoken to her.
I remember sitting across from her with the marriage certificate in my hand.
She stared at the paper.
Then at me.
Then back at the paper.
“William.”
“Yes.”
“Are you telling me you got married?”
“Yes.”
“To who?”
“Owen.”
“Who is Owen?”
“A man I met at the hospital.”
Her eyebrows pulled together.
“You married a stranger?”
“Yes.”
She stared at me for a long moment.
“Why?”
I had no answer.
That was the problem.
I had been asking myself the same question since the day I said the words.
Marry me.
Why had I said them?
I could have paid for the child’s surgery without asking for anything.
I had the money.
The four hundred thousand dollars meant nothing compared to what I had.
So why had I demanded marriage?
My grandmother was still waiting.
“William.”
“I don’t know.”
She leaned back.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“You’ve never been attracted to men.”
“I know.”
“I have never known you to date men.”
“I’ve never dated anyone.”
She stared at me.
“Then why him?”
I sighed.
“I don’t know.”
She looked at me suspiciously.
“Are you telling me you suddenly fell in love with a man?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
I rubbed my forehead.
“He was crying.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“When I saw him, he was crying.”
I remembered that moment.
A man standing outside the hospital, completely broken.
He had been crying as if his entire world had collapsed.
And somehow, I had understood it.
I knew that kind of pain.
I had seen it in my mother’s eyes before she died.
I had felt it when my father left me.
I had spent years pretending I didn’t understand it.
But I did.
Maybe that’s why I stopped.
Maybe that’s why I walked toward him.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t leave him there.
“He was helpless,” I said quietly. “His son was dying. He had no money. No family.”
“And you felt sorry for him?”
I immediately looked at her.
“No.”
“William.”
“I didn’t marry him out of pity.”
She watched me.
“I don’t know why I married him,” I admitted. “But it wasn’t pity.”
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she sighed.
“Well…”
She looked at the certificate again.
“At least you have someone waiting for you at home now.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Someone who will know when you come home.”
She smiled faintly.
“Someone who will turn the lights on.”
I didn’t understand why that sentence stayed with me.
Until now.
⸻
Last night, Owen cooked dinner.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
I had people who cooked for me.
I had a maid who came regularly.
I had cleaning services.
I had never been particularly interested in household staff.
I didn’t like too many people in my space.
My maid usually came, cleaned, bought groceries, and sometimes asked whether I wanted her to prepare dinner.
Sometimes I said yes.
Sometimes I told her not to bother.
But last night was different.
I walked into the house and smelled food.
Not restaurant food.
Not something professionally prepared.
Something simple.
Something warm.
Something made at home.
Owen had cooked.
He hadn’t announced it.
He hadn’t asked permission.
He had simply gone into the kitchen and made dinner for us.
Theo sat at the table.
Owen sat beside him.
And for a moment, I just stood there.
They looked like a family.
A real family.
Something about it made the house feel different.
I sat down.
Owen looked at me.
“How is it?”
“It’s good.”
That was all I said.
Because I didn’t know what else to say.
The food was genuinely good.
But that wasn’t what surprised me.
What surprised me was that I liked someone cooking for me.
Not because I needed it.
Because someone had thought about me.
That was different.
⸻
The next morning, I woke up intending to go straight to work.
That was my routine.
Coffee.
Suit.
Car.
Office.
No breakfast.
I walked downstairs.
And stopped.
Again.
The smell of food.
Fresh coffee.
Freshly squeezed juice.
Eggs.
Bacon.
Toast.
I stared at the kitchen.
Then I saw Owen.
He was standing there preparing something.
He turned.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
He looked at me.
“Do you want breakfast?”
I should have said no.
I normally did.
But something stopped me.
“Yeah.”
The word came out before I could reconsider.
He smiled slightly.
“Okay.”
He prepared a plate and placed it in front of me.
I sat.
It felt strange.
Extremely strange.
I was a man who had eaten in five-star restaurants.
I had eaten meals prepared by some of the best chefs in the city.
Yet sitting at my own kitchen table while my husband placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me felt more unfamiliar than any expensive dinner I’d ever attended.
I looked at the plate.
Then at him.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“You’re welcome.”
I started eating.
It was good.
Again.
Simple.
Warm.
Homemade.
Owen sat across from me.
“Are you going to work?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
He looked down.
I noticed the small change in his expression.
Not disappointment exactly.
Just…
Something.
“You’ll be back tonight?”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
I drank my coffee.
Then I said,
“When I get back, we need to talk.”
His eyes lifted.
“About?”
“Us.”
He became quiet.
“There are things we haven’t discussed.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want you to worry.”
“I’m not.”
He was lying.
I could see it.
But I didn’t push.
I stood.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Okay.”
I walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
I looked back.
Owen was still sitting at the table.
His ring was visible on his finger.
My mother’s ring.
I had given it to him without understanding why.
Now I couldn’t stop looking at it.
I left.
⸻
The entire drive to work, I thought about breakfast.
It was ridiculous.
I had a company worth more money than most people could imagine.
I had meetings that could change the future of my business.
And yet my mind kept returning to a plate of eggs.
To fresh juice.
To someone asking me if I wanted breakfast.
To someone waiting in my house.
My grandmother’s words returned.
At least you have someone waiting for you at home.
I had never understood what she meant.
Now I was beginning to.
My house had always been silent.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
Controlled.
But silent.
Nobody waited for me.
Nobody asked whether I had eaten.
Nobody cooked because they wanted to.
Nobody cared whether I came home early or late.
And now there was someone there.
Someone who didn’t know what he was doing.
Someone who was probably just trying to repay a debt.
Someone who was still learning what it meant to be my husband.
I didn’t know what I wanted from him.
I wasn’t even sure what I wanted from this marriage.
But there was something I knew.
I didn’t want to walk into that house tonight and find it empty again.
And that realization bothered me more than it should have.
Because I had spent my entire life insisting that I didn’t need anyone.
Yet somehow, after only two weeks of marriage, I had started getting used to the idea of someone being there.
Someone waiting.
Someone cooking.
Someone turning on the lights.
Someone asking,
“Do you want breakfast?”
I didn’t know what was happening to me.
But I knew one thing.
Tonight, Owen and I were going to talk.
About the marriage.
About the arrangement.
About what came next.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to be temporary.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD