Peter walked away.
He didn't wait to hear more.
He couldn't.
The words echoed behind his ribs like shrapnel—Her name's Bennie. Once she's onboard, I'll have everything I need.
He didn't know what that meant exactly. But it didn't sound like kindness. It didn't sound like anything Bennie would've agreed to, at least not knowingly.
He tried to convince himself it wasn't his Bennie. Of course she couldn't be the only one with that name.
His mind spiraled the whole way home.
The kids were playing when he arrived—Desmond and Anna sprawled across the living room floor, drawing uneven superheroes with broken crayons. Sandra curled up in the corner with a book, eyes flicking toward him the second the door creaked open.
"Welcome dad. Are you okay Dad," she said softly.
Peter forced a smile. "Just had a long day, sweetheart. You okay?"
She nodded, but the question hung between them.
He didn't answer.
That evening, he moved like a ghost through the house. He cooked dinner—rice and egg stew with the last of the tomatoes—washed the dishes, helped with homework, and bathed Anna, whose laughter sounded like a memory from a lifetime ago.
But through it all, his eyes stayed fixed on the door.
Bennie came home after 10 p.m.
She had a takeout bag in one hand and a new phone in the other. Her clothes were different. Expensive and made with classy material. She wore a silky blouse that shimmered in the low light. Her hair had been done, makeup lightly touched, like someone had groomed her to look like a better version of herself.
Peter stood by the kitchen counter, wiping it down even though it was already clean.
She paused when she saw him.
"You're still up?"
"Couldn't sleep," he replied simply.
They stared at each other for a second too long.
Peter didn't ask where she'd been.
Bennie didn't offer.
She walked past him, placed the takeout on the table. "This is for the kids. I already ate."
Peter nodded. "They're asleep."
Another pause. A thick silence.
She moved to their shared room, and Peter stood there, gripping the counter.
That night, they didn't speak.
And that silence grew.
The next morning, Bennie left early.
Peter didn't ask where she was going. He only watched her from the window as she got into a waiting black car—sleek, foreign, polished. Not a taxi.
A man in a suit opened the door for her.
She got in without looking back.
Peter turned away.
Bennie sat across from Brian at a rooftop restaurant, the kind of place where waiters wore gloves and nothing had a price on the menu.
She had hesitated because she didn't know what Brian's intentions were but she had signed the contract earlier that morning.
A six-figure salary. Company credit card. Full benefits. Her name printed in embossed letters under the title: Executive Assistant to the CEO.
It felt surreal.
Brian had handed her a company phone—state-of-the-art, already synced with his schedule, contacts, and tasks.
"You'll need this. Your old one was… outdated," he'd said with a small smile.
He'd also arranged for a personal assistant. Her name was Clara, a trim, smart and sturdy woman with sharp eyes and a clipboard.
"You'll learn quickly," Clara had said, before showing Bennie to her new office, arranging fittings, tailoring appointments, and wardrobe upgrades without blinking.
Bennie sat there now, sipping from a glass of water that tasted like citrus and something expensive.
She looked across at Brian, who was talking about an upcoming conference in Dubai.
Her name would be on the travel manifest.
She could barely keep up.
When he paused, she asked quietly, "Why me?"
Brian looked at her carefully, like he was deciding how much to reveal.
"Because you've lived through pressure. Real pressure. Not boardroom drama or PR crises. You know how to think under fire. You're resourceful. And I think you'll be a loyal asset for me."
He leaned in slightly.
"And because I like knowing the people around me owe me something. It makes things… cleaner."
Bennie froze.
That wasn't what she expected.
Not romantic. Not kind.
Just possession.
She smiled faintly, unsure how else to respond.
Brian leaned back, clearly satisfied. "You'll do fine."
Back home, Peter stared at the fridge.
There was food now.
More than they could afford.
He opened the freezer—frozen shrimp, chicken thighs, even ice cream.
The pantry had been stocked. Cereal, noodles, spices.
It wasn't her salary. That hadn't even arrived yet.
Genuinely, he hoped it wasn't Brian.
He didn't say anything. Just cooked dinner again, fed the kids, told them their mother was working hard to give them a better life.
The next morning Bennie removed some cash from her purse and kept it on the table. She told Peter to go to school and pay the kids school fees so they could continue school.
Peter said he had work and she just gave a weird smirk . "How much have you earned since you started?".
He was silent.
"Yeah that's what I thought."
At work Bennie ignored him. She didn't even act like she knew him and wouldn't go to work together with him.
And every night, Bennie came home later.
Sometimes not at all.
She would leave a message: I'm staying near the office. Too tired. Tell the kids I love them.
Peter said nothing.
He didn't ask questions. Didn't confront her.
But he was unraveling slowly.
One night, after a few days in, Bennie stumbled in around midnight. She looked drained. Her heels dangled in one hand, and her shirt was creased like she'd been sleeping in it.
Peter was sitting in the living room, lights off.
She jumped when she saw him.
"Jesus, Peter. You scared me."
He didn't move. "You said you were staying at the office."
She blinked, caught. "I was. I couldn't sleep. Come home."
He nodded. "There's food in the oven. You can heat it."
She didn't touch it.
Instead, she sat on the edge of the armchair, running a hand through her hair.
"This job… It's intense. I wasn't ready for it."
"Then quit," Peter said gently.
Bennie looked up sharply. "I can't. We need the money. You said so yourself."
"I said we'd figure things out. I never said to drain yourself."
Her expression twisted. "So we can go back to not having anything to eat.? Yeah right."
Peter stood slowly. "I don't know, Bennie. I just know you don't come home anymore."
"I'm working."
"You're disappearing."
That struck something in her, but she didn't lash out. She just looked… tired.
"I'm trying, Peter. I swear. I'm trying not to get mad."
Peter exhaled. "Just don't forget why you're doing it."
She nodded once.
Then went to bed.
Alone.
The next morning, Peter took the early bus, returned to Thompson Airlines, and went straight to the hangar; he wanted to work more so he could think less. He was even ready to work at night.
He would take the night shift. More pay. Less time to think.
The supervisor nodded. "You sure? It's brutal."
"I'm sure."
Peter needed something—anything—to keep his mind from spiraling.
And maybe, just maybe, to prove to himself that he could still be a man his kids could be proud of.
That he didn't need Brian's crumbs or wherever the money came from.
Back at the office, Bennie was learning fast.
The long meetings. The endless demands.
Brian grew colder by the day—he didn't shout, didn't insult. But his expectations hung heavy like a leash.
He called her at all hours.
Expected instant replies.
He began rearranging her schedule without asking.
And one afternoon, when she excused herself early to attend Desmond's school presentation, Brian looked up sharply.
"You have responsibilities here."
"I'm not missing my son's recital."
His stare was flat. "You work for me now. Remember that."
Bennie left anyway.
But her stomach stayed twisted the entire time.
That night, her phone buzzed repeatedly with urgent tasks, emails, and reschedules.
She replied from the back of the school auditorium, her smile forced as Desmond performed a small monologue on stage.
Later, as she tucked him in, Desmond whispered, "I missed you, Mommy."
Bennie kissed his forehead. "I'm here now."
But she didn't believe it.
Not really.
Back in her room, she found Peter waiting.
Not angry.
Just tired.
He handed her an envelope.
"What's this?"
"I got promoted. Night shift. More hours. They trust me again."
Bennie opened the envelope.
Inside was a small check.
Her throat tightened.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Peter looked at her long and hard. "If you're not happy there, Bennie… leave. We'll survive."
She looked away. "It's not that simple."
"Yes, it is," he said gently. "You just forgot that you were never someon
e who needed saving. Not like this."
Bennie didn't respond.
But later that night, when she sat alone in the dark, her new phone buzzed again.
"Bennie,can we talk? Please, it's urgent. My place?"
It was late but she got up after much consideration dolled up and headed out.