The key to locked hearts

3

The moment Sebastian and the kids arrived home, he had completely forgotten about his interaction at the store. The kids were squealing with delight, running circles around the maids, who struggled to keep up. Despite the chaos, he couldn't help but chuckle at their innocent antics; they were so precious. Attempting to hang up his jacket, a maid rushed over to take it from him. This overbearing attentiveness, a constant throughout his life, still grated on his nerves. He was more than capable of managing, yet here he was, still a puppet. Then, those familiar heels clacked towards him, a sound he had come to dread. Here she goes again... Does she own nothing else? Those heels certainly don't make her any taller.

"So, where were you with my children?" Olivia's voice sliced through the air, each word a pointed dagger veiled in velvet.

"Our children. I took them out for some fresh air," he countered, his voice a controlled calm against her storm.

"Fresh air? That's what the maids are for, Sebastian." Her laugh, a harsh, mocking sound, filled the room.

"Must you always rely on them for everything?" He couldn't keep the edge from his words.

"They are being paid, aren't they? What else are they good for if not to be relied upon?" She retorted, her voice cold and detached. The air turning thick, the maids clung to the walls in the distance, hiding from her ignorance, although to them it was more like dominance.

"They are strangers; you're their mother. You should be the one they rely on," he said, his frustration mounting.

"Oh, am I expected to wash their clothes next? You know very well we're above menial tasks like that." Her words dripped with sarcasm, each syllable sharp enough to slice through the pretense of their conversation.

He couldn't stand another second of it. Walking away seemed the only escape from her venom. Talking to her was like shouting into a void; nothing ever made it through. It was pointless.

"I gave birth to them, so be careful with my children." Her words, sharp as knives, tried to pierce his retreating back.

"And who was it that fucked you so you could do that?" The question erupted from him, raw and loaded with years of pent-up resentment. Her shock was palpable, her eyes wide as if he had slapped her. Before the bile could rise further, he turned his back towards her and left, the air thick with unsaid words. Every day, they danced this hateful tango, a choreography refined by years of mutual disdain.

He pushed the door to his room with force, hearing it slap against the wall in response. He stood there, struggling with his tie, as it was suffocating to keep on. His eyes panned the room only for the memory of that fateful night to creep back into his mind. The night he had tried to end their marriage.

He sat across from Olivia, the tension thick in the air. "I think we should end this," he said, trying to sound firm.

She looked up, her eyes flashing with anger. "End what? Our little arrangement?" Her tone was mocking, as if their marriage was nothing more than a business deal.

He felt a surge of frustration. "This is not an arrangement, it's a marriage. And it's not working for either of us."

She scoffed, leaning back in her chair. "Oh please, don't pretend like you actually care about us. You knew what you were getting into when you married me. It's not my fault you're tired of playing house."

He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his composure. "This was never about playing house. I wanted a genuine marriage, a real family—a connection that was about us, not just about keeping up appearances and envying other families. I tried, despite our arrangement, to make it work. But you can't see past your own shallow assumptions, can you? You think it's all about money for me. It's not. I wanted something real, something meaningful. But you're so blinded by your own ambition and need for status that you can't even see that."

Her eyes narrowed. "And what's wrong with that? We have a reputation to uphold, a legacy to protect. I won't let you ruin everything we've built because of your childish antics."

He felt his temper flare. "I'm trying to communicate with you, Olivia. I'm tired of living a lie, of pretending to be someone I'm not just to please you and my father."

She leaned forward, her voice low and dangerous. "And what about your inheritance? You think your father will just hand over the company and fortune if you divorce me? Think long and hard about this, Sebastian."

She stood uncomfortably close, her voice a venomous whisper in his ear. "You're nothing without me," she sneered, the words cutting deeper than any knife. His eyes widened with disgust and shock; when did she become so vile?

The sound of the door slamming shut brought him back to the present. A gust of wind maybe? The window was open, showing the view of the twinkling dark sky. He took a deep breath, pushing away the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. The past was behind him now, and he had to focus on the present, on making things right for his children.

It's been a week already, and Naomi still hadn't heard back. When were they going to contact her? How long did it take last time?

Naomi wandered into the local café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee enveloping her like a comforting hug. As she waited for her order, her gaze drifted over to the community bulletin board. It was a cluttered collage of flyers, business cards, and handwritten notes—each promising something different. Among the yoga class schedules and guitar lessons, a few job postings tried to catch her eye. She skimmed them, not too hopeful but curious. Nothing seemed promising today, but she made a mental note to keep checking. Jobs in town were rare, and good ones even rarer.

With her coffee in hand, she found a quiet corner, a small refuge from the uncertainties that awaited her beyond the café's cozy walls. She couldn't help but overhear a conversation at the next table—a young couple animatedly discussing their recent visit to an aviation museum. Their tales of pilots' daring adventures in the sky reminded her of the little boy she had met, whose eyes sparkled with dreams of flying.

This fleeting thought of him sparked a brief warmth in her heart, yet it couldn't fully shield her from the nagging worries about the contest. Really, how much longer would it be? The waiting was an endless game of patience she wasn't sure she was winning.