My Dear Don: The Contract Marriage.

Emma

Once again, the bus was late. I sighed as I looked at the watch in my hand, feeling my heart beat a little faster. The sensation of always battling against time was exhausting, the uncertainty of making it to work on time while the city's chaotic traffic toyed with my fate.

It was a scene that repeated itself daily: the morning sun beginning to illuminate the bustling streets hurried people and tired faces rushing to catch the bus, and the sounds of honking and engines filling the air. I gripped the strap of my bag tightly, bracing myself for the impending struggle.

I worked at a diner in Brooklyn, New York. Serving others was incredibly tiresome, and the sleazy jokes from the men who came in there every day were a constant burden. But I had to endure, after all, it was just my father and me.

He had a job at a shoe store, and his work alone wouldn't be enough to sustain our household.

As the bus crawled through the congested streets, my dreams seemed farther away than ever. The job I had, while stable, was far from being my dream job. The chaotic commute and the daily battle seemed to sap my energy and determination.

I sighed again, glancing at my phone's screen. The clock kept ticking, stealing away each precious minute. My heart sank as I calculated the chances of making it to clock in on time. "One more day, Emma Campbell, you can do it," I whispered to myself, seeking solace in my own words.

"You're late again," my boss said upon seeing me enter the diner.

"Sorry, Grace," I replied as I put on my apron. "I was only five minutes late because of the bus..."

"It doesn't matter, Emma," she interrupted. "If I'm paying you, I expect you to be here on time."

"Okay," I simply nodded and headed toward the tables to start cleaning up.

It was humiliating, the way I was treated there. However, I had ambitions. I needed to work more and more until I could pay off the mortgage on the house, but I didn't know how to save up for it, as every bit of the salary I earned went towards the household bills.

Despite being twenty years old and leading a harsh life, I was still a young woman who dreamt of a fairytale.

My shift began, and it all started again once more. I attended to the customers, took orders, and cleaned tables. I wouldn't complain because at least I had my father with me and this crappy job.

Dad had always been a constant presence in my life, from the moment my mother left us early, a victim of early breast cancer. I vaguely remember her soft voice and her gentle smile, but most of the memories were lost in the mists of time. She married my father when she was thirty-two, and even though she was a reserved woman, my dad always said that she loved me very much during the time she was here. As flawed as he was, he wasn't a bad father.

Sometimes, I catch myself looking at the few pictures we have of her, trying to recreate the memories I don't have. Her legacy lives on through me, in the traits I inherited, and in the features of my face that resemble hers. She always wanted the best for us, and I was determined to live up to her wish.

I walked over to a table to attend to a customer, and the arrogant guy started treating me as if he owned everything there.

"I ordered my meal five minutes ago, a waitress. What shitty service," he said.

I just looked at him, a silent disdain on my face, and turned away.

"Hey, you stupid girl, where's my order?" he shouted again, and my blood boiled.

"Listen here, you jerk, the stupid one is you. Can't you see I just took your order? Go to hell and wait your turn!" I retorted and walked away without looking back; he fell silent.

I was fed up, and I wouldn't take this insult silently anymore.

After long eight hours that seemed never-ending, my shift at the diner was over. I ended my day feeling exhausted, but at least grateful. I was trying to secure a recommendation letter for college since paying for one would be impossible, and this was my routine after work, along with cleaning the house.

As I reached for my bag, Grace called me over to talk.

"What's up, Grace?" I asked.

"A customer came to tell me that you treated him very badly and used offensive words."

"He did it first. I just put him in his place."

"Emma, you're fired!" she said, her firm and decisive words making me swallow hard.

"What do you mean, Grace?" I forced a weak smile. "He provoked me and..."

"I don't care anymore, just come back here to settle your dues, and good luck."

I left the diner devastated. What would I do now? No job, nothing to do.

I walked to the bus stop and, to make things worse missed it.

"Damn it!"

I returned home and ended up falling asleep on the bus. When I woke up, I felt as if someone was watching me. I looked around, but nothing seemed suspicious. Well, exhaustion is such that I must be imagining things.

Upon arriving home, I took off my shoes and started preparing dinner. I quickly tidied up the house, finally ready to tell my father that I had been fired.

Dad came in and hugged me.

"Emma, dear, just got home?"

"Yes, Dad. I prepared dinner the way you like it."

"Thank you, honey. You're a blessing," he said, and I noticed a despondent expression on his face.

There was something in the air that I couldn't grasp. An underlying tension, a worry in my father's eyes when he thought I wasn't looking. I tried not to question, but I knew something was happening that he was keeping from me.

He had always been reserved about his concerns, and I respected his privacy. However, now and then, I caught murmurs of low-tone phone conversations, and I could swear there were moments when he seemed overly anxious as if carrying an invisible burden.

Moreover, there were occasions when he came home very, very late. I even started to think he might be with another woman and didn't want to tell me. If that were the case, I would gladly accept it. I believed in genuine love between two people, and if my father found that, I would be happy for him.

"Dad," I began, "I've noticed that you've been a little... distant lately."

He looked at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Distant? What are you talking about, Emma?"

I shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I don't know, it just seems like you've been worried about something. I'm not the most perceptive person, but I can't help but notice."

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then sighed and turned off the stove. He walked over to the table and sat down across from me.

"Emma, it's nothing you need to worry about," he began, his tired eyes fixed on mine. "It's just... work-related matters, things I need to sort out."

"Work-related matters?" I repeated, my curiosity growing. "But you seem so anxious about them. Dad, I just want you to know you can trust me, you can tell me what's going on."

"Yes, I've already told you it's okay."

"Dad, please, tell me, what's going on! I just want to help."

He smiled gently and placed his hand over mine. "I know, my love. But for now, it's better that you don't get involved. I'll handle it, alright?"

I reluctantly nodded, feeling a tightness in my chest. I didn't want to add more worries to his life, but at the same time, my protective instinct was screaming inside me.

"I just... I just want you to know that I'm here for you, Dad. If you need to talk, I'm always here." And Dad, I need to tell you something. Something very important.

"What's wrong, Emma? You look concerned, sweetheart."

"I got fired, Dad. But I'll find another job, I promise."

"And now, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know, Dad... What was my father hiding? As much as I wanted to respect his privacy, I couldn't help but wonder if his concerns ran deeper than he was willing to admit. I told him I got fired, and he hardly showed any reaction.

There was something strange in the air, and I was determined to find out.