Unfamiliar Comforts
903 Words
The morning after their fake marriage began, Martha woke up to the smell of coffee.
She blinked at the sunlight filtering through thin curtains. For a second, she'd forgotten where she was. Then it all came rushing back—the Carters, the lie, John.
Pulling on a sweater, she padded out into the small kitchen they shared. The sound of sizzling eggs filled the air. John stood at the stove, shirt sleeves rolled up, quietly flipping the eggs in the pan like he’d done it a hundred times.
He didn’t look like a criminal.
He looked... normal. Calm. Even kind.
“Morning,” Martha said, surprised at how shy her voice sounded.
He didn’t turn around. “Made you coffee. It’s on the counter.”
She picked up the mug. The first sip shocked her. “You made this?”
“Yeah. Problem?”
“No,” she said quickly, almost embarrassed. “It’s actually really good.”
He finally turned, giving her the faintest smirk. “I can do a few things right.”
Downstairs, Elsie was already tending to her garden when Martha left for the hospital.
“Good morning, dear! John said you’re on the morning shift.”
Martha blinked. “He… told you that?”
“Oh yes, such a caring husband! He
mentioned you get sleepy if you don’t eat, so he made sure to cook.”
Martha stood frozen on the walkway. John told her that?
It was a lie. He hadn’t said anything of the sort. But for some reason, the image of him quietly protecting her dignity in front of Elsie made her cheeks burn.
The hospital was chaos as usual.
Martha met Nina in the break room. “So? How’s the married life?” Nina grinned, biting into her apple.
“It’s not married life. We just share a roof and lie to two sweet people.”
“And?”
Martha looked away. “He’s… not what I expected.”
Nina raised a brow. “How so?”
“He cooks. He doesn’t talk much. He’s neat. And he… he feels like someone who’s running from something, not someone dangerous.”
Nina leaned closer. “Maybe he is. Or maybe he’s just really good at pretending.”
That evening, Martha returned home exhausted.
She opened the door and froze.
The living room was clean. The couch cushions fluffed. A candle flickered near the window. The soft hum of jazz music played from the corner speaker.
John sat on the couch, one leg over the other, reading a book.
“You’re… reading?” she asked, stunned.
He didn’t look up. “What, criminals can’t read?”
She flinched. “I didn’t say that.”
He turned the page. “You were thinking it.”
Martha didn’t argue. Instead, she walked into the kitchen and found dinner waiting—a plate of roasted vegetables and rice.
“You cooked again?”
John shrugged. “You eat like a bird and then collapse. I don’t want you fainting in front of the Carters. They’d probably call the police. And that’s bad for both of us.”
His words were logical, cool. But still, it meant something.
She sat across from him. “What kind of business do you run?”
He glanced up, expression blank. “Didn’t we agree? No questions.”
Her fork paused mid-air. “Just curious.”
John didn’t respond. He went back to his book, as if the conversation had ended.
Downstairs, Elsie watched the upstairs window with a smile.
“They’re settling in well,” she told Harold, pouring tea. “Young love is quiet sometimes. But I see it.”
Harold chuckled. “You always see love. Even in the mailman and the garbage collector.”
Elsie nodded. “Because love changes people, Harold. You just watch. That boy up there—John—he’s carrying something heavy. But she’ll change that. You’ll see.”
Meanwhile, two blocks away, a car sat parked under a flickering streetlamp.
Inside, a woman with crimson lipstick and cold eyes watched the house through binoculars.
Her fingers tapped the dashboard.
She spoke into a burner phone:
“He’s gone quiet. Too quiet. Living in some suburb. Says he’s a married man now.”
On the other end, a male voice snarled, “He better not be slipping. We need the docks cleared this Friday. Or you know what to do.”
The woman smiled, eyes locked on the second-floor window where a flicker of candlelight glowed.
“I always do.”
That night, Martha stood by the window, arms crossed.
John was brushing his teeth in the bathroom, the door half open. She could hear the water running, the low hum of the city outside.
She whispered to herself, “What are you hiding, John?”
As if he heard her, he appeared in the hallway behind her.
“We need to set some rules.”
She turned around. “Okay.”
“No questions. No snooping. We don’t sleep in the same room. We don’t get involved in each other’s business.”
“And we act married for the Carters,” she added.
He nodded once. “Exactly.”
They stood in silence.
“Got it,” she said.
But even as she agreed, she knew she’d already broken one of those rules.
She was already involved—whether he liked it or not.
- Writer
