Eric
1350 Words
Laura's POV
Every day felt exactly the same.
Work. Home. Work. Home.
Wake up. Get the kids ready for school. Clean the house. Cook dinner. Process customer data at work. Repeat.
Sometimes I felt like a hamster trapped in a wheel, running endlessly without ever getting anywhere.
You probably think I'm a single mother.
Honestly, life might have been easier if I were.
I have a husband. He works hard, pays some of the bills, and by most people's standards, he's not a bad man.
But alcohol has become his constant companion.
After work. On weekends. During holidays. Any excuse is good enough for another beer.
I love him.
At least, I think I do.
Or maybe I've simply loved him for so long that I no longer know the difference between love and habit.
What I do know is that I'm tired.
So incredibly tired.
Sometimes all I want is for someone to wrap their arms around me and tell me everything will be okay.
But with my husband, affection always leads to the same thing.
Sex.
No matter how gently he starts. No matter how often he says he just wants to hold me.
It always ends the same way.
And if I say I'm tired? If I say I don't feel like it?
Suddenly, I'm the problem.
Then come the accusations.
"Do you have someone else?"
"You don't love me anymore."
"What's wrong with you?"
As if exhaustion isn't real.
As if carrying the weight of an entire household doesn't leave scars.
Sometimes I feel like a machine programmed to function twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
A wife.
A mother.
An employee.
A cook.
A cleaner.
Everything for everyone.
And somehow, never enough.
That morning, I grabbed my purse and left the house.
The children were at school, and my husband was asleep after one of his countless drinking sessions.
I'd taken a few vacation days from work because I desperately needed to breathe. Coincidentally, my husband happened to have those days off as well.
Lately, I preferred it when he was working.
At least then I didn't have to watch him drink.
Outside, a cold wind swept through the streets. It was early March, yet winter seemed unwilling to loosen its grip and surrender to spring.
I had no destination in mind.
My feet simply carried me toward the city center.
That's when I noticed a small café tucked between towering office buildings and expensive business centers. It looked almost out of place, like a hidden gem surrounded by glass and steel.
I was freezing.
And if I was being honest, my thoughts felt frozen too.
Money was another problem.
A huge one.
Between my husband's spending habits and years of financial mistakes, we had accumulated debts that seemed impossible to escape. Some had already been handed over to collection agencies.
Most months we barely survived from paycheck to paycheck.
I rarely bought anything for myself.
Every spare cent went toward my children, my husband, or another overdue payment.
Still...
One cup of coffee couldn't hurt.
I deserved at least that much.
The café was warm and inviting.
An elderly woman stood behind the counter, greeting every customer with a smile that felt genuine.
I ordered my favorite latte and chose a small table beside the window.
Watching people through glass had always been one of my favorite things.
From there, I could pretend I wasn't part of their world.
I could simply observe.
Imagine different lives.
Different choices.
Wonder where I might be today if I'd taken another path years ago.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice someone approaching my table.
"Excuse me, may I sit here?"
The deep voice startled me.
I looked up and found myself staring at an older gentleman.
He appeared to be around sixty, dressed in an immaculate tailored suit. Silver streaks ran through his dark hair, while faint lines around his eyes and mouth hinted at a lifetime of experience.
He looked distinguished.
Wealthy.
The kind of man who belonged in those glass office towers outside.
Most of all, he looked completely out of place in my life.
"Of course," I replied politely. "I was about to leave soon anyway."
The man smiled and took the seat across from me.
For several moments, neither of us spoke.
Instead, we watched the city through the window.
"I don't understand where everyone is rushing to," he finally said. "It seems like nobody knows how to stop anymore."
I resisted the urge to sigh.
Small talk wasn't exactly what I'd hoped for.
"Everyone has their reasons," I replied. "Some people are chasing success. Some are trying to survive. And some simply don't have a choice."
His eyes lingered on me.
A thoughtful smile touched his lips.
"I think you're absolutely right."
Then he asked a question that caught me completely off guard.
"If you had the chance to start over, would you?"
My breath caught.
Something about the way he asked made me feel exposed.
As though he could somehow see through every carefully constructed lie I'd spent years telling the world.
The lies that said I was happy.
That everything was fine.
That I wasn't slowly falling apart.
"No," I answered automatically. "I've never really thought about it."
The lie tasted bitter.
The man studied me for a long moment.
"I think you're lying to yourself."
His voice remained calm.
Not judgmental.
Just certain.
And somehow, that made it worse.
"Perhaps," he continued, "it's easier to pretend everything is fine than admit you're unhappy. Especially to a stranger."
I stared at him.
For reasons I couldn't explain, this man saw more in me after ten minutes than most people had seen in years.
Maybe even more than my husband.
I looked down at my coffee.
Then sighed.
"Fine," I admitted quietly.
The smile vanished from his face.
He listened.
Really listened.
"I have thought about it," I said. "About what my life would look like if I'd made different choices. Sometimes I wonder whether I'd be happier. Freer. Less trapped."
The confession felt strangely liberating.
Painful.
But liberating.
For the first time in a very long time, someone seemed willing to hear me.
The man nodded thoughtfully.
"That's an honest answer."
Then he reached into his jacket pocket and placed a business card on the table.
I frowned.
Why would I need his business card?
I wasn't looking for new friends.
I certainly wasn't looking for wealthy businessmen.
"Take it," he said. "My company often has well-paid openings. You never know when an opportunity might change your life."
Reluctantly, I picked it up.
The card felt expensive.
Elegant.
Embossed gold lettering gleamed beneath the café lights.
Eric Carter
CEO – Carter Investments & Holdings
My eyes widened.
Even I had heard of the company.
Before I could say anything, Eric leaned back in his chair.
"What I'm about to say is going to sound completely insane."
A strange feeling settled in my stomach.
"I hope you don't mind if I speak frankly."
I nodded cautiously.
His next words nearly made me choke on my coffee.
"What would you say if I offered you a marriage?"
I blinked.
"What?"
"Not with me," he clarified immediately. "With my son."
The world seemed to stop.
"My son needs a wife."
I stared at him.
Certain I had misunderstood.
"A temporary marriage," he continued calmly. "Four months. No obligations. No expectations. In return, I'll pay you whatever amount you think is fair."
Shock quickly gave way to anger.
Who did this man think he was?
Did I look that desperate?
That broken?
That easy to buy?
I pushed back my chair and stood.
My hands trembled.
"You can't buy me."
The words came out sharper than intended.
"I don't care how much money you have. My problems are my own, and I'll deal with them myself."
Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out.
Furious.
At him.
At myself.
At the fact that a small part of me hated how tempting his offer truly was.
- Writer
