Solutions in a contract

Chapter three

Andrea's POV

I get home that night, and the first thing I hear is my mother crying.

It’s not the first time, and it probably won’t be the last, but it never gets easier standing outside the kitchen door listening so I linger for a moment before walking in. She wipes her face quickly and straightens up, pretending like I haven’t seen anything.

“Mom,” I say. It’s the best I can manage after everything tonight. 

“I'm fine, Andrea.” She replies, not looking at me, shuffling the papers on the table.

I sit across from her and pull the stack toward me before she can stop me. I already know what they are without reading a word. The red stamps at the top say it all. Three new invoices, all marked OVERDUE. The total on the last one is so bad I have to turn it face down because I can’t let her see my reaction.

“When did these come?” I ask.

“Today,” she says quietly. “The hospital called too. They said if we don’t make at least a partial payment by the end of the month, they’ll have to pause Ethan’s treatment.”

I don’t say anything because there’s genuinely nothing to say. I definitely suck at consoling.

My father walks in from the sitting room, probably drawn by the voices. He glances at the papers, then looks away like he always does, and something sharp pierces my chest.

“Aren’t you going to say anything, Dad?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.

“There are men who have called this house three times this week,” I continue. “The loan isn’t reducing, and the hospital isn’t going away. So… what exactly is the plan?"

He’s quiet for a long moment before he finally says, “I’m working on something,” in the voice he always uses when he has absolutely nothing. I look away, because the anger in my chest is the kind I can’t afford to release right now.

“Okay, Dad,” I say, and leave the kitchen before I say something I can’t take back.

I peek through the slightly open door of Ethan’s room, just wanting to make sure he’s asleep. But he’s sitting up in bed, blanket tucked around him, little toy cars scattered across the floor. His head turns instantly when he hears me, and with a grin that makes my chest ache, he calls, “Sister! Where did you go all day? I missed you!”

I hesitate, caught off guard, then step in. “Hey, pumpkin.” I crouch beside the bed, smoothing his hair. “I missed you too.”

He hugs my arm tight. “Did you play with anyone? Did you have fun?”

I force a smile. “Yeah, a little. Just babysitting stuff,” I say carefully. That’s the cover story I give my family: random side gigs, harmless little jobs. Nobody knows I’m living a life that isn’t mine tonight.

“Andrea… when is it all going to end?” Ethan leans back, his small face serious. “It hurts.”

My throat tightens. He’s only four, and yet he already understands pain in a way that shouldn’t exist at his age. My hand hovers over his hair. “I promise, Ethan. I’ll figure out a way.” By ‘a way’, I meant accepting the devil's proposal. “I just… need a little more time.”

He nods solemnly and coughs softly. I remember the loan I still owe the woman who supplies me with these rich people’s outfits and jewelry. I argued with her tonight, I’d promised to balance everything but I came with excuses instead, and now her words still ring in my ears. “You can’t keep running from your debt, Andrea.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. Sacrifices come with being the best sister. I can’t just keep watching him suffer; he doesn’t deserve any of this.

Trying to lighten the moment, I crouch closer. “Hey, remember that Transformers set you’ve been asking for?” I grin. His eyes widen. “I’m going to get it for you really soon.”

“Really?” His face lights up like the sun has risen in his bedroom. “Thanks, Andrea! You’re the best sister in the whole wide world!”

I hug him tight, feeling his warmth and innocence, and for a moment, the weight of the night lifts slightly. But I can’t ignore it, everything I’m about to do, the decisions I’m considering tonight… it’s all for him. For Ethan.

I pull back and kiss the top of his head. “I love you, little man. Sleep tight, okay?”

****

Seven days later, a knock at the front door makes my stomach drop before I even reach it.

Two men, the same ones from last month, stand there in the doorway with their too-loud voices and their cold smiles, asking for my father in a way that echoes down the hallway. I am certain the neighbors can hear every word.

“He’s not available,” I say, pressing myself against the doorway so they can't see past me.

“Tell him the deadline moved,” the taller one says, smiling without warmth. “He has until Friday now, not next week. And we’re not as patient as before.”

When they leave, I lean against the door, heart racing.  

“Who was that?” my mother asks, her footsteps closing in.

“Nobody,” I say, walking past her toward the bathroom. “Wrong door.”

She doesn’t push, and I’m grateful because I don’t have a version of the truth I can give her. She's had enough to worry about already.

I lock the bathroom door and sit on the edge of the tub. Tristan's card is in my hand as I think about the invoices on the kitchen table, Ethan’s medication, those two men, and my father’s empty assurances. What am I really waiting for?

I know what I am going to do.

I have known since Tristan Hale stood across from me and offered exactly what I needed with a catch… I’ve known. I tell myself it’s not sleeping around. Just one man. One decision.

Seven days, he said. But it takes until the seventh night before I act. I pull out my phone and dial the number on the card before I can rethink my decision.

“I’m ready, Mr. Hale,” I say as soon as he answers.

There's a short pause before his calm, unbothered voice comes back. “My driver will be outside your building tomorrow at nine. Pack what you need.”

He hangs up before I can respond as I sit there with the phone in my hand and the card on the tub. I made the right choice. I have to believe it.

At breakfast, I sit both my parents down. “I got a job offer,” I say and my mother looks up immediately with that careful, cautious hope in her face that breaks something in me a little. “Brand ambassador post with a private firm. It's a long distance, so I’ll be living away for a while. They agreed to cover my expenses.”

“How long is a while?” my mother asks.

“A year,” I say, “maybe more depending on how it goes, but the pay is enough to handle everything, the hospital bills, the loan, all of it.”

She studies me closely, looking for the part I’m not saying. I hold her gaze. She needs to see enough truth to let it go.

“Is it safe?” she asks quietly.

“Yes,” I answer, and for that part, I believe it. It's Tristan Hale after all.

My father looks at me, relief and shame crossing his face. “You don’t have to do this, Andrea,” he says, the most he’s said in weeks.

“I know,” I say, “I want to.”

My mother squeezes my hand once, tight, then lets go. That's her way of saying okay, I love you, and please come back safely, all at once.

I finish packing, glance at Ethan’s medication and hospital schedule, and think: this time next month, none of this will be a problem. That thought is all I need to keep moving.