Hope

Susan

The day had gone from bad to worse, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

First, there was the email from my landlord—a notice about rent going up next month. Then, I had an irate client call, blaming me for a mistake someone else made. And to top it off, I received a message from my mom.

Well, not my mom, but from the nursing home she lived in now. Apparently, she wasn’t taking her medication again.

I stared at my phone, her caretaker’s words staring back at me:

“Hi Susan, just a heads-up, your mother’s been refusing her pills this week. She says they make her feel ‘funny.’ We’d appreciate it if you could talk to her about it.”

I let out a long breath and leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. Why was it always something? Just when I thought I’d managed to gain some control over my life, something else came along to knock me off balance.

I’d spent so much of my life trying to fix everything, to be the person everyone could rely on. But lately, it felt like the weight of it all was starting to crush me.

A knock at my office door made me sit up straight. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and there he was—Elliot, with his perfect suit and his infuriatingly calm demeanor.

“Busy?” he asked, stepping inside without waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” I replied curtly, hoping he’d get the hint.

But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. He walked over to my desk, his gaze sweeping over me like he could see through the cracks in my armor.

“You look… tense,” he said, his tone carefully neutral.

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile.

“You don’t look fine,” he replied, his voice soft but insistent.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “Why do you care, Elliot?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat down across from me, his expression serious. “Because I know what it’s like to carry too much on your shoulders. And I know how much it helps to have someone who gets it.”

I stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

“I don’t need you to fix anything,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended.

“I’m not trying to fix anything,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But I can listen. Or distract you, if that’s what you need.”

I looked away, swallowing the lump in my throat. The truth was, I didn’t want to talk about it. Not with him, not with anyone.

But there was something disarming about the way he was looking at me—like he genuinely cared. Like he wasn’t here to push my buttons or play games.

“It’s just been a rough morning,” I admitted finally. “That’s all.”

He nodded, like he understood. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m here.”

Then, without another word, he stood and walked out, leaving me sitting there with a knot in my chest and a head full of questions.

Why was he doing this? Why was he making it so hard to keep him at arm’s length?

I didn’t have answers. But for the first time in a long time, I felt something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years.

Hope.

****

Elliot

I leaned against the wall outside Susan’s office, running a hand through my hair as I exhaled slowly.

I didn’t want to push her too hard, but seeing her like that—strained and on the verge of breaking—did something to me. I’d seen Susan handle stress before. She was like a fortress back in college, always holding it together no matter how chaotic things got.

But today? Today, she looked fragile. And I hated that I couldn’t just swoop in and fix whatever was weighing her down.

I replayed our conversation in my head as I headed back to my office. Her sharp tone, the way she avoided my eyes—it wasn’t anger. It was something deeper. Something raw.

And if there was one thing I knew about Susan, it was that she wouldn’t let me in unless I proved I could be trusted.

So, what now? How could I let her know I was serious about being here for her without scaring her off?

An idea struck me just as I reached my desk. It wasn’t grand or elaborate, but maybe that was the point.

I grabbed my phone and sent a quick text to Gerald:

Me: Can you get me the number of the best bakery in town? I need a favor.

Within minutes, he replied with a link. I called the bakery and placed an order for a small box of macarons—Susan’s favorite from our college days. The kind she used to rave about but could never justify buying for herself because, as she put it, “Who spends twenty bucks on cookies?”

When I finished the call, I leaned back in my chair, satisfied. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

A few hours later, the box of macarons was sitting on my desk. I attached a small card that read:

“For when you need a little sweetness to brighten your day. No strings attached.”

I hesitated for a moment before heading back to her office. I didn’t want to risk another confrontation, so I left the box on her desk while she was out at lunch.

As I walked away, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t about winning her over or scoring points. It was about letting her know that someone cared—that I cared.

But as I sat back down at my desk, a thought nagged at me. What if she didn’t see it that way? What if she thought it was just another tactic to wear her down?

I shook my head, brushing the doubt aside.

This wasn’t about tactics or strategies anymore. It was about her—about reminding her that she didn’t have to carry everything alone.

Even if she never said it out loud, I could tell she was struggling. And if this small gesture made her day even a fraction better, then it was worth it.

Still, as the hours ticked by, I couldn’t help but glance toward her office every now and then, wondering what she’d think when she saw the box. Wondering if maybe, just maybe, she’d realize that I wasn’t the same Elliot Prescott who walked away ten years ago.

Maybe this time, she’d let me stay.