Burdened path

ELLA 'S POV

The morning after that unsettling phone call stretched out with a quiet, almost oppressive stillness. The sky above London was cloaked in a thick, overcast veil, its pale gray light seeping through like a reluctant dawn. I stood outside Thompson’s Brew, the air brushing against my skin with a cool, gentle touch. The scent of warm bread drifted from a bakery a street away, mixing with the faint, dry whisper of dust stirred by a passing breeze.

My fingers fumbled with the edges of my coat. The memory of that phone call ... that sharp, unfamiliar voice cutting through the afternoon silence , clung to my thoughts like a shadow. She knew about the baby. And I hadn’t even begun to understand how.

Ethan approached. His navy suit was immaculate against the muted backdrop, the fabric catching the faint light as he moved with a steady, purposeful gait. His gray-blue eyes met mine, shadowed with deep, thoughtful concern. He paused a few steps away, his presence grounding yet tense.

“Ella,” he said, his voice low and careful, as if weighing each word, “that call you got yesterday wasn’t just some random noise. I think we should go to the police station and let them know what happened. It might be serious.”

I turned to face him fully, my heart beating a slow, heavy rhythm in my chest. I nodded, my voice soft but resolute.

“The police? I suppose you’re right. I’ve been feeling lost about it, and maybe they can shed some light on this.”

We began walking towards Waterloo Bridge, my shoes tapping a gentle, rhythmic pattern against the pavement. The sound mingled with the distant, steady hum of morning traffic. 

Inside the police station, the atmosphere shifted. The air smelled of aged paper and a subtle, clean sharpness from recent polishing. Officers moved at a measured pace among desks cluttered with files and coffee cups.

Officer Reed, his uniform crisp and neatly pressed, gestured toward a small, tidy room. I lowered myself into a chair, the wood cool and solid beneath me, its surface smooth from years of use. Ethan stood nearby, his hands resting lightly in his pockets, his posture calm but alert.

Officer Reed set a notepad on the table, the paper crinkling slightly as he positioned it. His pen clicked once before he looked up with a steady gaze.

“Please, take your time. Walk me through what happened with that call.”

I drew in a long, slow breath, my fingers lacing together in my lap, the tips brushing against each other nervously.

“It was yesterday afternoon, not long after lunch. My phone rang, and a woman’s voice came through. Cold. She meant every word. She said I wasn’t safe from now on.”

Ethan shifted his weight, his tone measured and thoughtful.

“I’ve been considering this, and it might tie it back to my business. There could be people watching me, using this to their advantage.”

Officer Reed nodded and turned to a computer on the desk. The screen flickered to life with a soft hum. He scrolled through lines of data, his finger pausing on a blinking red dot that pulsed faintly. His brow furrowed as he leaned closer.

“This signal,” he said after a moment, “matches a pattern we’ve seen in other cases, It suggests someone with intent is involved. You’ll need to be cautious until we can look into this further.”

A shiver ran through me. I rested a hand lightly on my stomach, the fabric of my dress cool under my palm.

“Cautious? I’m not sure what that means for me. What if she calls again?”

He reached into a drawer in a slow, deliberate motion, pulled out a small, plain card, and slid it across the table toward me.

“Keep this with you. It’s my contact details. Please call if that woman reaches out again, or if anything else feels out of place.”

We left the station. The card nestled securely in my pocket, its edges pressing against my fingers. We stepped into a cab. The leather seats were smooth and slightly chilled against my clothes, the city unfolding outside in a quiet procession of gray stone and muted colors.

At home, the familiar warmth of roasted chicken and creamy mashed potatoes filled the air. My favorite dinner, prepared with care by Grandma. She moved through the kitchen with slow, practiced steps, her hands arranging the plates with precision. The silverware clinked softly against the china, her face etched with the quiet exhaustion of a long day managing the café.

Lucy sat beside me at the table. Her presence was a steady comfort. Her colorful scarf draped over her shoulders added a touch of brightness to the room. She became my best friend years ago when she first joined me at Thompson’s Brew. I remembered her nervous hands spilling a cup of tea across my apron during a chaotic afternoon shift. We laughed it off, and over time, our shared late nights wiping down tables and whispering about our dreams forged a bond that felt like family.

Grandma set a plate before me, the steam rising in gentle curls, and smiled faintly.

“Here you go, dear. Eat well. You need it after today.”

Lucy passed me a napkin, her voice warm and steady.

“It’s nice to have you back, Ella. We were starting to worry when you didn’t call.”

I took a small bite. The flavors were comforting and rich. I murmured, “Thank you both. It’s been a strange day.”

The evening settled into a gentle quiet. As I prepared for bed, the soft glow of my bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up with Ethan’s name.

I picked it up, my voice cautious.

“Ethan? It’s getting late. Is something wrong?”

“Ella,” he said, his tone earnest with a trace of strain, “I need to talk to you about something important. Rumors have been circulating recently. People are saying someone is carrying my baby. It’s spreading fast, and it will definitely affect my company if this goes on. So I’ve been thinking… why don’t we have a fake contract marriage? It’ll put an end to the gossip, help me keep my standing, and I’m sure it’ll help your reputation as well.”

I sat on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping slightly, and felt a lump rise in my throat.

“A fake marriage? That’s not the life I imagined for myself. It feels so far from what I wanted.”

He paused. The silence stretched for a moment before his voice softened.

“I know this isn’t fair to ask Ella. And I hate putting you in this position. But I’m asking. Please. I’m begging you to consider it. I’ll do anything you want if you agree with this.”

Tears gathered in my eyes. I brushed them away with my sleeve, the fabric rough against my skin.

“Anything? Then I want a new home for my grandma. Somewhere comfortable for her. And a better job for Lucy. Something that suits her skills.”

He took a slow breath. The sound crackled faintly through the phone.

“I can make that happen. A new home for your grandma and a good job for Lucy. Will you sign the contract if I promise that?”

I hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing on my chest, then whispered, “Yes, I will. But it’s not easy for me. We should talk to Grandma first.”

The next day, Ethan arrived at Thompson’s Brew. The air was thick with the rich, earthy scent of coffee and the gentle clatter of cups being stacked. Grandma stood behind the counter, her hands moving with practiced ease as she served customers, her face lined with the quiet strain of her work.

Lucy lingered nearby, her colorful scarf a soft contrast to the muted tones of the café. She offered me a reassuring nod.

Ethan cleared his throat, his posture formal as he stepped forward.

“Mrs. Thompson,” he said, his voice clear and deliberate, “I’ve come to speak with you about a contract marriage with Ella. Rumors about her pregnancy are circulating, and they’re threatening my business reputation. This arrangement will help stabilize things, and I’m prepared to offer one million pounds to support it.”

Grandma’s eyes narrowed. Her hands paused mid-motion. She stepped around the counter, her face flushing with a deep, angry red. She raised her hand and slapped him, the sound ringing sharply through the café.

“My granddaughter isn’t for sale, you insolent man.”