David
David stood at the base of Lena’s apartment building, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the
street. The bag in his hand felt heavier than it should have—inside, a carefully chosen housewarming gift he’d
spent too much time agonizing over. A set of artisanal coffee mugs, paired with a pound of her favorite locally
roasted beans. It was small, thoughtful, and practical—something he hoped wouldn’t feel like an overst ep. He
adjusted the bag’s strap on his shoulder and stared up at the building’s sleek exterior. It suited her, with its clean
lines and polished windows, the kind of place that offered stability and quiet in the middle of the bustling city.
Stability she deserved. Stability he’d stolen from her. She hadn’t invited him. He knew that. He also knew there
was a good chance she’d slam the door in his face—or worse, refuse to open it at all. But sitting at home,
staring at the walls of their old house, the silence had become unbearable. He needed to do something, even if it
meant risking her anger. His footst eps echoed faintly as he crossed the lobby, the cool air inside a sharp contrast
to the warmth outside. He hesitated in front of the elevator, his thumb hovering over the button. This was a bad
idea. He should leave the gift with the doorman, text her that it was waiting. It was the rational thing to do. But
rationality hadn’t brought him here, and it wasn’t going to make him leave.
When the elevator doors opened, he st epped inside and pressed the button for her floor, his chest tightening
with every passing second. He tried to focus on the details of the gift, reassuring himself that it was thoughtful
but not too personal, just enough to show he cared without crossing a line. The mugs were hand-painted, a
subtle nod to the kind she used to love. He’d wrapped the beans with twine, a little extra touch that he hoped
would make her smile—if she even looked at it. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal a quiet
hallway. His st eps felt loud against the tiled floor as he approached her door, the number etched neatly onto a
small brass plaque. For a moment, he just stood there, the bag clutched in his hand, his heart pounding. What
was he expecting? That she’d see the gift, hear his apology, and let him in? That they’d share a cup of coffee
and somehow bridge the chasm he’d created between them? The thought felt naive and ridiculous, but he
couldn’t stop himself from raising his hand and knocking. The sound echoed faintly, and he shifted his weight,
his palms damp with sweat. He waited, his breath catching when he heard footst eps approach the door. The lock
clicked, and then it swung open to reveal Lena standing there, her expression a mix of surprise and guarded
annoyance. “David?” she asked, her tone cautious. “What are you doing here?” He swallowed hard, forcing
himself to meet her eyes. “I—uh—I brought you something,” he said, holding up the bag like it was some kind
of shield. “A housewarming gift.” Her gaze flicked to the bag, then back to him, her brow furrowing. “You
didn’t have to do that,” she said, her tone flat but not unkind. “I know,” he said quickly. “I just... I wanted to.
It’s not much. Just some coffee mugs and beans. I remembered how much you loved that roast from The Corner
Café, so I thought...” His words trailed off, and he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
For a moment, Lena didn’t say anything. She just looked at him, her arms crossed, her posture defensive. Then
she sighed, st epping back slightly to allow him inside. “Fine,” she said, her voice resigned. “Come in.” David’s
chest tightened as he st epped over the threshold, the familiar scent of her perfume lingering faintly in the air.
The apartment was immaculate, everything perfectly in place, but it felt sterile—like a space still waiting to
become a home. He set the bag down carefully on the kitchen counter, turning to face her. “I know I’m not
really welcome here,” he said quietly. “But I wanted you to know I was thinking about you. That I care.” Lena’s
eyes softened briefly before the guarded mask slipped back into place. “Thanks,” she said, her tone neutral.
“But that doesn’t change anything.” David took a st ep back, sensing his time was up. “I’ll let you get back to
your day,” he said, his tone careful. “I just... wanted to drop that off.” Lena was standing near the table, her
back to him as she flipped through a thick file of resumes. She glanced over her shoulder at him briefly before
turning back to her work, her tone brisk. “Thanks again for the gift, David. But as you can see, I’m swamped.”
He lingered near the door, unsure whether to st ep further inside. “What’s all this?” he asked, gesturing to the
papers. “Secretary applications,” she said without looking up. “I need to hire someone, and HR flooded me with
candidates. Most of them are completely wrong for the job.” David frowned, st epping closer. “Why didn’t HR
filter them down first?”
“Because I insisted on having full hiring and firing autonomy,” she r eplied, flipping a page with a little more
force than necessary. “And now I’m drowning in applicants who can’t even spell ‘competence,’ let alone
demonstrate it.” David let out a low whistle as he picked up one of the discarded resumes from the corner of the
table. “Yikes,” he said, scanning the sloppy formatting and glaring typos. “This one claims they have a ‘keen
eye for detail,’ but they misspelled ‘management.’ Twice.” Lena let out a dry laugh, but her shoulders stayed
tense. “Exactly. I don’t have time to deal with this. My schedule’s already insane, and half these people are
wasting it.” David hesitated for a moment, then set the resume down. “I could help,” he offered softly. She
froze, finally looking up at him with an incredulous expression. “Help? With what?” “Sorting these,” he said,
gesturing to the pile. “Going through applications, organizing them. You’ve got a system, right? Criteria you’re
using to weed people out?” Lena raised an eyebrow. “You want to screen secretary applications?” David
shrugged. “It’s not that different from what I used to do for you,” he said. “This isn’t new for me.” She studied
him for a long moment, clearly debating whether to let him st ep into her carefully maintained space. Finally,
she sighed, pushing a stack of papers toward him. “Fine. But don’t get in my way, and don’t make a mess.”
David couldn’t help but smirk slightly as he pulled up a chair. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
For the next hour, the room was quiet exc ept for the occasional rustle of paper and the clacking of Lena’s laptop
keys. David worked methodically, sorting resumes into neat piles, flagging the ones that met her criteria. He
noticed small details Lena had jotted down in her notes: trust, loyalty, discretion. He paused, feeling a pang of
guilt at how much weight those words carried for her now. “You’re looking for someone who’s the opposite of
Natalia,” he said softly, breaking the silence. Lena’s fingers stilled on her keyboard and she didn’t look up.
“Obviously,” she said, her tone clipped. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he returned to the
stack. He wanted to say more—to acknowledge the damage he’d caused, the trust he’d shattered—but the
words felt too heavy for the moment. He fell into a rhythm, meticulously combing through each application. He
noticed how her shoulders relaxed, the faint tension in her jaw easing as the piles on the table grew more
organized. For the first time in ages, the air between them felt lighter, the silence not suffocating but
companionable. Lena glanced at the stack he’d sorted, her expression softening with something he couldn’t
quite name. “You’re... surprisingly thorough,” she admitted reluctantly, flipping through one of the piles. “This
actually saves me a lot of time.” David smiled, warmth spreading through his chest. “I’m good at understanding
what you want.” This wasn’t just about resumes or organization. It was about Lena. Being in her presence, even
for something as mundane as sorting paperwork, felt like a privilege. Every little thing he could do for her lit
him up inside. If he couldn’t be her husband, if he couldn’t fix the past, at least he could do this—serve her in
small ways, remind her that he still cared, still wanted to be the person she could count on.