Chapter 9
1043words
"Are you expecting anyone?" I asked, drying my hands.
Alexander shook his head, rising to answer. I heard the door open, then a long silence, followed by an elegant female voice.
"Alexander. You look... different."
I froze, recognizing who that voice likely belonged to. I put down the towel and walked toward the living room to see Alexander standing in the doorway, facing an elegant middle-aged woman. She wore an expensive suit, her hair perfectly coiffed, her demeanor radiating innate authority.
Mrs. Barrett. Alexander's mother.
"Mother," Alexander's voice was tense. "This is a surprise."
"Evidently." Her gaze moved past him to me. "You must be Emma."
I straightened, suddenly aware I was wearing old jeans and a paint-stained t-shirt. "Yes, ma'am. Nice to meet you."
She nodded acknowledgment but didn't smile. "May I come in?"
Alexander stepped aside to let her enter our small apartment. She looked around, her expression unreadable, but I could feel her assessment.
"Tea? Coffee?" I offered, trying to break the awkward silence.
"No, thank you." She sat gracefully on our couch, looking out of place. "I won't stay long."
Alexander sat across from her, and I wasn't sure whether I should leave or stay to give them privacy.
"Please sit down, Emma," Mrs. Barrett said, as if reading my thoughts. "My visit concerns you as well."
I slowly sat beside Alexander, who immediately took my hand, a small but significant gesture of support.
"So, Mother," Alexander began, "what brings you here?"
"Your father's health." She said directly.
Alexander's expression immediately turned concerned. "What's wrong with him?"
"Stress. The doctors say his blood pressure is dangerously high, and he experienced a minor cardiac event last week."
"A heart attack?" Alexander's voice tensed.
"Not quite, but a warning sign." She sighed, showing fatigue for the first time. "The company is struggling, Alexander. Since you left, some decisions have been... less than wise. Your father is trying to handle too much."
I felt Alexander's hand tighten in mine. "Why didn't he tell me?"
"You know your father. He's too proud." She looked directly into his eyes. "He needs you, Alexander, though he won't admit it. The company needs you."
The air in the room suddenly felt heavy. I could sense Alexander's internal struggle, his concern for his father warring with the new life he'd built for himself.
"I can't just go back," he finally said. "Not on his terms."
Mrs. Barrett's gaze shifted to me, then back to her son. "Is it because of her?"
"No, Mother, it's about me. About the life I want." Alexander said firmly. "I've found a kind of... authenticity here. I'm building my own business, based on my own talents, not just my surname."
"A café," she said, with slight disdain in her tone. "You were raised to lead a multi-billion dollar enterprise, and you choose to sell coffee."
I felt a surge of defensiveness. "It's not just a café," I interjected. "It's an art space and community center. Alexander is creating a place that can truly impact people's lives."
Mrs. Barrett regarded me appraisingly. "And you truly believe that's more important than what he could do at Barrett Industries? A position that could affect the livelihoods of thousands of employees and their families?"
I opened my mouth to argue but found myself without words. From a certain perspective, she was right. The scale and impact of Barrett Industries far exceeded what our little café could ever achieve.
"It's not about scale, Mother," Alexander said quietly. "It's about purpose and fulfillment. At the company, I always felt like a puppet, executing Father's vision. Here, I'm creating something of my own."
Mrs. Barrett was silent for a moment, studying her son. "You look different," she finally said. "Thinner, but also more... alive."
"I'm happy, Mother. Possibly for the first time."
She nodded, seeming to digest this information. "Your father gave me a message to deliver. He says if you come back, you can keep your... personal choices." She glanced at me. "He won't interfere in your private life anymore."
Alexander looked surprised. "That's a concession."
"A significant one, for him." She stood, straightening her jacket. "Think about it, Alexander. Not for me, not even for your father, but for yourself. Your position at Barrett Industries is your birthright. Don't give it up lightly."
She turned to me, her expression softening slightly. "It was nice to meet you, Emma. I can see your influence on my son. For better or worse."
Before I could respond, she was already walking to the door. Alexander rose to see her out.
"Take care of yourself, Mother," he said, genuine concern in his voice. "Tell Father I'll consider his offer."
She nodded, lightly touching his cheek, a small gesture of intimacy that seemed to surprise Alexander. Then she was gone, leaving a room full of silence.
Alexander closed the door, leaning against it, his expression complex.
"Are you okay?" I asked softly.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I'm worried about my father. Despite our differences, he's still my father."
I walked to him, taking his hands. "Are you considering going back?"
He looked into my eyes. "I'm considering all options. If I could help him without giving up everything we're building, maybe I should."
"Do you think that's possible? Finding balance between both worlds?"
"I don't know." He pulled me into an embrace. "But I know one thing: whatever decision I make, you're part of it. I won't give us up, Emma. Not for anything."
I rested against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, but feeling uneasy. Mrs. Barrett's visit had reminded me of the world Alexander truly came from—a world far removed from my small apartment and artistic dreams.
If he returned to that world, even partially, how would our relationship change? What about our café plans? More importantly, if he didn't go back, would he regret it? Would his father's health deteriorate?
These questions swirled in my mind, but I didn't voice them. Instead, I held Alexander tightly, knowing we were standing at some kind of crossroads, the path forward suddenly less clear.
