Grace's POV
The taxi weaved through the familiar streets as I headed home to surprise Charles. My London business trip had wrapped up a day ahead of schedule, and anticipation bubbled in my chest. All I wanted was to fall into his arms and feel that comforting warmth I'd been missing.
Three days off work stretched ahead of me—though experience had taught me not to get too comfortable with that luxury, not in my position.
Right on cue, my work phone shattered the peaceful silence of the ride.
"Yes, Mrs. Patterson, I'll be at the office tomorrow. I'll have all the reports ready for our new CEO. Yes, I'll print them out."
I kept my voice steady and professional, but internally I was rolling my eyes so hard they practically did somersaults. This new CEO already sounded like a complete prima donna. Typical of someone sent down from the parent company—probably some privileged rich kid who sweet-talked daddy into handing him a position.
'What a joke,' I thought with bitter amusement.
"…"
"Yes, everything's handled. Yes, I'll make the transition smooth for the new CEO's company assessment."
"…"
"Good night to you as well, Mrs. Patterson."
Click.
I let out a heavy breath and stuffed the phone back into my purse. After shutting my laptop, I sank back against the worn seat cushions. The glittering lights of downtown Los Angeles streaked past the window, but exhaustion made everything blend into meaningless shapes and colors.
Five years I'd called this chaotic metropolis home—such a dramatic shift from the quiet farming community where I'd grown up.
The city's relentless pace and noise grated against my nerves, but I'd planted roots here because Charles insisted this was where his dreams would flourish. Those dreams had withered on the vine long ago. For most of our five-year marriage, I'd been carrying the financial burden alone.
The cab driver's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "What line of work are you in, Miss? It's nearly midnight and your boss is still hounding you."
I stared at the neon-soaked streets blurring past, taking my time to answer. Opening up about personal matters wasn't my style, but tonight the weight of everything felt particularly crushing. "Publishing. I'm a Chief Editor at a firm."
"Sounds impressive. Bet it pays well too," he observed. "But damn, you look beat. Is it always this demanding?"
A sigh escaped me. "I can't afford to slack off. I'm supporting my husband's ambitions."
"Your husband doesn't work?"
"Not exactly. His income is practically nonexistent, so this job is essential. LA doesn't come cheap."
"Tell me about it, everything costs a fortune these days," the driver agreed. After a moment of quiet, curiosity got the better of him. "What kind of ambitions does your husband have?"
"…Acting. He's been at it for five years." My expression darkened as I calculated just how much time had slipped away with nothing substantial to show for it.
"Rough industry," the driver said with genuine sympathy. Everyone understood how brutal Hollywood could be. "Has he landed any roles?"
"A handful, but just tiny parts. Half the time he's nothing more than background decoration." My scowl deepened.
"Sounds like grueling work for scraps. Is it really worth the struggle?" The question made me turn away from his probing stare, my frown intensifying.
"It's not, but he's so obsessed he won't consider anything else," I admitted.
"So essentially he's unemployed?"
I hesitated, then exhaled slowly. "He's chasing fantasies at this point."
"If his acting isn't going anywhere and he won't get a real job, why stick around? Sounds like dead weight to me," the driver pressed, waiting for my response.
…
Silence stretched between us, and I could feel the driver regretting his bluntness. He must have sensed my darkening mood and mentally kicked himself for prying. He turned his attention back to navigating the city streets toward my apartment building.
The driver had no idea how his questions had stirred up all my buried resentments about Charles's complete uselessness.
God only knew how many hours I'd spent trying to convince, encourage, and even beg him to find steady work while he chased audition after audition. His response never varied.
-
"Look, I'm sorry the business is so cutthroat. It's not my fault I haven't made it big yet! I've got everything—the looks, the talent, the work ethic! All I'm missing are the right connections!"
"As my wife, you should be standing by me through this rough patch! I'm not even asking you to network for me, just keep me afloat financially. You think I don't want to give you the world too? Just have faith in me and it'll all pay off eventually!"
-
'So far all I've gotten is a lazy husband who's refused real employment for five straight years,' I thought with bitter cynicism. 'I suppose he doesn't sleep around. If that counts as a redeeming quality.'
I understood that a successful woman like myself shouldn't have tolerated being shackled to such a worthless husband. I should have cut Charles loose years ago and enjoyed the rewards of my hard work alone.
But my reasons for staying ran deeper than logic... it all came down to my broken reproductive system.
I was sterile, barren—or as Charles's mother so cruelly put it, "an incomplete woman."
Half a decade of marriage, and despite our regular, unprotected intimacy, my womb remained empty.
I craved motherhood desperately, but hope was fading fast. The constant pressure from Charles's family only twisted the knife deeper.
It left me feeling defective and worthless. Every sacrifice I made for him now was my attempt to make up for my inability to give him children.
That, and...
'I suppose I'm just terrified of ending up alone,' I admitted to myself sadly. 'I'm not sure I could find another good man once he learns I can't give him babies.'
**
I gave the cabbie a generous tip for being my unwilling therapist and hurried toward the apartment entrance, eager for some rest and to catch Charles off guard with my early return.
I hadn't bothered telling Charles about coming home a day ahead of schedule. Not that it would matter—he'd probably be sprawled on the couch, lost in some mobile game or mindlessly scrolling through TikTok.
I turned the key without any particular expectations.
But the instant the door swung wide, my eyes went huge and my bag crashed to the floor.
Charles was indeed on the couch, but he had company.
My husband sat there wearing nothing but his underwear while a woman straddled his lap, grinding against him with her discarded bra somewhere on the floor. She was moaning with pleasure as she pressed her bare chest to his eager mouth. They were so lost in their passion that they hadn't even noticed my entrance.
The woman finally glanced up, sensing another presence. Her eyes met mine, and she smiled at her older sister with casual cruelty. "Hey, Sis. Didn't expect you back so soon."