Chapter Eighteen — William
1589 Words
Three days.
That was how long Owen had been mad at me.
I knew it.
There was no point pretending otherwise.
Owen still took care of everything. He prepared breakfast. He packed my lunch. He made sure Theo had everything he needed for school. Dinner was always ready when I came home.
But something had changed.
He stopped coming to my office with coffee.
He stopped asking about my day.
He stopped sitting around while I talked about work.
And when I texted him during the day, his replies had become painfully short.
How is your day going?
Fine.
How is Theo?
He’s good.
That was it.
No details.
No little updates.
No I packed your favorite sandwich today.
No Theo said something funny.
Nothing.
It was the silent treatment, except Owen was still taking care of me while giving it.
And somehow, that made it worse.
I didn’t like it.
I didn’t like knowing my husband was upset with me.
But I also hadn’t changed my mind.
I didn’t want him working for someone else.
It wasn’t because I thought he was incapable.
Quite the opposite.
Owen worked harder than almost anyone I’d ever met. He had spent his entire life taking care of himself and Theo. He had survived without anyone.
But now he had a family.
He had a home.
He had me.
And he didn’t need to work a minimum-wage job just to prove that he could contribute.
He already contributed.
Every single day.
He took care of our home.
He took care of Theo.
He took care of me.
He cooked.
He cleaned.
He packed my lunch.
He remembered things I didn’t even remember about myself.
Those things mattered.
But I knew I had handled the conversation badly.
I had said no before listening to him.
And perhaps that was the part I needed to fix.
⸻
That evening, we sat at the dining table.
Owen placed my plate in front of me without looking at me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
One word.
I sighed internally.
I looked across the table.
“How was your day?”
“Fine.”
“What did you and Theo do?”
“Nothing much.”
I looked at him.
He was deliberately avoiding my eyes.
“Owen.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He went back to eating.
I almost smiled.
He was terrible at pretending he wasn’t angry.
Theo, thankfully, had no such problem.
He spent the next fifteen minutes telling me everything that had happened at school.
Apparently, Jack had made a joke during class. Apparently, his teacher had given him a sticker. Apparently, someone had brought a toy to school and gotten in trouble for it.
I listened to every word.
Because I wanted Theo to know that I cared.
After dinner, Owen cleared the plates.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he told Theo. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”
I watched them disappear upstairs.
I knew Owen wasn’t coming back to my office.
He hadn’t done it for three days.
So instead of going to my office, I waited.
Eventually, I heard footsteps.
Owen walked into our bedroom.
He was about to walk past me when I spoke.
“Owen.”
He stopped.
“Can we talk?”
He turned around.
“About what?”
“You.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
He sighed.
“What did I do?”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“Owen.”
He crossed his arms.
I stood up.
“I know you’re angry because I told you that you couldn’t work.”
His expression immediately changed.
“But you didn’t even listen to what I had to say.”
There it was.
The truth.
I walked closer.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
He looked genuinely hurt now.
“It’s not about money, William.”
“I know you want to make money.”
“It’s not even about that.”
He shook his head.
“I’ve worked all my life. I’ve always had to work. I’ve always had to make sure Theo had what he needed. I don’t want to suddenly become someone who can’t buy something for my own son without asking you.”
I remained silent.
“And sometimes,” he continued, “I might want to buy something for you. Something small. Something that I know you’ll like. And I don’t want to use your money every single time.”
His voice softened.
“I know I won’t make much. I’m not a graduate. I only have my GED. I know that. But I still want to work. I want to feel useful outside this house.”
That last sentence hit me.
I understood him now.
This wasn’t about money.
It was about identity.
Independence.
Pride.
He didn’t want to feel like someone who had been rescued and now simply lived off his rescuer.
I reached for his hand.
He looked at me but didn’t pull away.
“Come here.”
He hesitated.
Then I led him to the couch.
We sat beside each other.
“Owen,” I said quietly, “I don’t want you to think that I don’t value what you do.”
He looked down.
“You contribute more to this family than you realize.”
His fingers tightened around mine.
“You take care of Theo. You take care of this house. You take care of me. You make sure I eat. You make sure I come home to a place that feels like home.”
I paused.
“I don’t want you carrying more than you already do.”
“But I want to work.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“I heard you this time.”
A small smile appeared on his face.
“And I still don’t want you working for somebody else.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you spending your entire day working for minimum wage when you’re capable of building something of your own.”
He blinked.
I continued.
“I’ve noticed how much you bake.”
His expression changed immediately.
“You like baking.”
“I do.”
“You make cakes, cookies, bread. You experiment with things.”
He smiled slightly.
“I like it.”
“Then let’s do something with it.”
“What?”
“Take a baking course.”
His eyebrows rose.
“A course?”
“Six months.”
“William—”
“Six months,” I repeated. “Learn everything you can. Improve your skills. Then we’ll find a place.”
“A place?”
“A small café. A bakery. Something that belongs to you.”
He stared at me.
“Mine?”
“Yours.”
I leaned back.
“You can run it however you want. You can bake. You can hire people. You can make your own decisions.”
He was silent.
“I want you to be your own boss,” I said. “I don’t want you working for someone else.”
His face softened.
“That’s actually a really good idea.”
“I know.”
He laughed.
“You really like being right.”
“Usually because I am.”
He laughed again.
And just like that, the tension between us disappeared.
⸻
Later, I returned to my office.
I had barely opened my laptop when I heard a knock.
I smiled.
I already knew who it was.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
Owen walked inside carrying a cup.
“Coffee.”
I looked at it.
Then at him.
“You’re back.”
He smiled.
“I thought you needed it.”
I took the cup from him.
“Thank you.”
He shrugged.
“I know you like your coffee.”
I took a sip.
“Are you still angry with me?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Because you were very angry.”
“I was.”
“You didn’t bring me coffee for three days.”
He smiled.
“You noticed?”
“Of course I noticed.”
“You didn’t even get a goodnight.”
“I noticed that too.”
“You noticed everything.”
“I notice everything about you.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Owen went quiet.
So did I.
For a moment, we simply looked at each other.
Then he smiled.
“I’m sorry I was mad.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”
“You were very firm.”
“I tend to be.”
“Very.”
I smiled.
“But you’re not angry anymore?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He turned toward the door.
“Owen.”
He looked back.
“Thank you for the coffee.”
He smiled.
“You’re welcome, husband.”
Then he walked away.
I sat there staring at the door long after he left.
Three months ago, I had married a stranger because of a desperate decision.
Now that stranger was the person I noticed when he wasn’t around.
The person whose silence bothered me.
The person whose coffee I missed.
The person whose footsteps I recognized.
And somehow, without either of us realizing it, this marriage was becoming something neither of us had planned.
Something real.
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