Married by coincidence

SARAH HOWARD

If there’s one thing that’s a box of surprises, it’s the “day after day.”

Yes, because we can plan a normal day like any other, but we can’t control how things unfold—or when they happen. Fate is unpredictable. Our lives can change in the blink of an eye. And that was exactly the thought I had as a seemingly normal day began—or maybe not.

“Holly, I’m leaving before I’m late!” I yelled, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

“Good luck, Sarah! Don’t forget to bring something back—I love the food at that restaurant!” she shouted from the kitchen.

“It costs a fortune. If it were bad, it wouldn’t make any sense!” I laughed, and she laughed too.

I left the small apartment I shared with Holly. She was my childhood friend; we had gone to the same school all the way through graduation. Holly studied advertising at college while I stayed in Portland with my mom for a few more years. When she finished her degree, she invited me to move to Seattle to pursue better job opportunities. I agreed—I saw her as a sister.

We both worked hard to support our families. That shared purpose brought us even closer. My mom remained in a nearby small town, and I helped her however I could. We didn’t earn much, but we managed our money carefully. That allowed us to live modestly and still help out, even if just a little.

I’d always been a dreamer. I wanted to give my mother everything she deserved. She’d always tried to give me the best, even when her health wasn’t great. She supported me, encouraged me to pursue a new path, and believed it would benefit both of us.

Back in Seattle, Holly and I lived in a small but comfortable apartment. At least we each had our own space. The time we spent together was always fun—Holly was the classic studious girl, with her thick glasses and multi-colored cardigans. I often wondered how she stayed so chill all the time.

I walked for a few minutes until I reached the restaurant where I worked. It was upscale and attracted millionaire clients. The dishes cost more than three months of my salary, the drinks more than six. I often wondered who could spend that kind of money so easily. The answer? The rich.

That day, I wore a black knee-length pencil skirt, a black blouse, and a matching blazer. My hair was loose with well-defined curls, and my makeup was subtle. I carried my heels in my backpack—I usually walked to the restaurant in comfortable shoes and changed once I arrived.

The manager was strict about appearance—presentation was a requirement. I had worked there for a year and met those expectations, mostly because I took my job seriously. I liked what I did, and they paid fairly, so that kept me going.

I took a deep breath as I reached the gold-accented doors of the restaurant. The place had a luxurious, rustic ambiance with dim lighting. I headed to the employee lounge, where I stored my belongings and swapped my flats for stilettos. One last glance in the mirror—I was ready.

As I reached my work area, I checked the reservation list for the evening. Customers were starting to arrive. I greeted them, confirmed their bookings, and escorted them to their tables. Some were regulars, others new, and of course, there were the married millionaires with their mistresses. Just another day.

I was reviewing the reservation list when a deep male voice interrupted me.

“Good evening… Ryan Fletcher and Susan Adams.”

I looked up with a polite smile. My eyes landed on the man—and stopped. He was tall, strong, strikingly handsome. Did I mention handsome already?

He noticed my reaction and gave a slight smirk.

“Are you deaf, girl?” the woman—presumably Susan—snapped.

I blinked in surprise. She was clearly wealthy and full of herself. I hated when people treated me like that, but I took a deep breath. I was at work, and I valued my job.

Women like her were common at the restaurant. Some people don’t know how to handle wealth with grace. Humility isn’t just for the poor—it’s a beautiful quality.

“Good evening, Mr. Fletcher and Ms. Adams. My apologies—I was just confirming your reservation. Please follow me,” I said calmly.

I led them to their table. I could swear that man was watching my hips—or my entire body. His gaze made me uncomfortable. Once they were seated, I walked away quickly and ran a hand nervously over my neck. What was that look? What was he doing?

The night continued, relatively quiet. It would have been a normal shift—if not for him. Every time I passed their table or greeted someone, I felt his eyes on me. I did my best to avoid looking in his direction.

They stayed for a few hours. The woman seemed delighted, whispering things in his ear and laughing. He didn’t seem nearly as enthusiastic, but it was none of my business. Still, I found myself paying more attention to them than I should’ve.

Near closing, they finally left. She clung to his arm like he might run away. It was a little amusing, honestly. I felt a wave of relief—the first time that evening I could relax without his burning gaze on me.

After closing, I cleaned up my station. It had been a long, busy night. I planned to take a cab home. I gathered my things and headed out, digging through my bag for my wallet when I heard a voice.

“Good evening. I was curious to know your name,” he said.

There he was—leaning against his car, hands in his pockets, staring at me.

I almost tripped. What was he doing there? This wasn’t normal. No customer had ever waited for me outside. I was a little scared.

“Good evening again… It’s late, Mr. Fletcher. I really need to go,” I said as I stepped toward the curb and flagged down a cab.

The avenue was busy despite the hour.

“Your name… there’s nothing wrong with that,” he said, stepping closer.

My breath caught in my throat, and my face heated. Who did he think he was? I didn’t even know him.

“No, thank you… I—I…” A cab pulled up.

“Ah, got one! Thanks again! Good night, Mr. Fletcher.” I got in without another glance.

Inside the cab, I exhaled deeply, hand to my chest. What just happened? Why was he waiting for me?

It wasn’t uncommon for older, well-dressed men to wink or flirt, but this was different. No one had ever waited for me outside. That was... unsettling.

When I got home, I opened the door and heard the TV. Holly was watching something.

She looked at me and immediately remembered her request. “You didn’t bring anything today? Wow…”

“Sorry, Holly, today was kind of… strange,” I said, dropping my things on the table.

“What happened?” she asked, sitting up.

I told her everything. Her reaction matched mine—it had been weird. But tomorrow was a new day. Time to move on.

After we talked for a bit, we each went to our rooms. A hot bath and warm blanket were all I needed after a long shift.

I fell asleep quickly—but my sleep wasn’t peaceful. I had a strange dream: that man was grabbing my arm, trying to force me into his dark car. I woke up gasping, heart pounding. I looked around. I was in my room. Safe. That dream had really shaken me.

The clock showed it was already late morning. Holly was probably already at work—she worked at a publishing company and usually left early. I was proud of her; she had built a career in her field.

Later that afternoon, around 4:00 p.m., I left for work. The route was the same as always. I greeted the friendly security guards and entered the restaurant.

As I headed to the employee lounge, the manager, James, stopped me.

“Sarah… can you come to my office, please?” he said, his face serious.

I froze. That didn’t sound good.

I followed him, nervous. After two knocks, he waved me in. He sat at his large wooden desk and motioned for me to sit.

“Sarah, I don’t like having to say this. You’ve always been an excellent employee… but…” He sighed.

“I have to inform you that you’re fired.”

I stared at him, stunned. I didn’t understand. What had I done?

“But… I don’t understand, James. I’ve never been late. What happened?” I asked, trying to stay composed.

“I probably shouldn’t say much… but the owner has powerful friends. One of their daughters was here last night. She claimed you were flirting with her boyfriend—her companion. I really don’t know.”

“Me? When? I’ve been here for a year! I’ve never done anything like that,” I said, covering my face.

“You’ve always been professional, Sarah. But… you know how it is. They checked the security cameras and saw him waiting for you outside.”

“I don’t know him! I didn’t encourage him. Please, James… I need this job,” I begged. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I'm just following orders… Here's what you're entitled to for your year of work," he said, handing me an envelope filled with money. I had nothing to say. In fact, I couldn’t even think. Sometimes we work so hard for something, only to lose it in the blink of an eye. I was confused, frustrated, and furious at that spoiled, arrogant girl who had caused all of this—for no reason. Why had she appeared out of nowhere just to mess with me and ruin my job? I took the money and left as fast as I could. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. As I gathered my things in the employee lounge, my anger grew—not only at her but also at them. How could they fire someone without even investigating the truth? They could’ve easily checked and seen I hadn’t done anything wrong. But I knew how the world worked—money spoke louder, and there was no point in insisting. As I walked out the restaurant doors, an expensive, armored black car pulled up. I didn’t think much of it and kept walking quickly, my emotions heavy—sadness, anger, disbelief. The car started following me. Then, from the back seat, stepped out the very man from the night before—one of the people responsible for me losing my job. When I saw him, my immediate thought was to kick him where it would hurt the most. That’s what he deserved. “Sarah... hi. I need to talk to you. Can you give me a minute?” he said, trying to catch up with me. I stopped abruptly, rage bubbling inside me. That handsome man—well, that man—stood in front of me like nothing had happened. “A minute? I’ve got all day now—since I was fired, thanks to you and your spoiled, shallow girlfriend!” I shouted, not caring who heard. I turned and kept walking, but he grabbed my arm, making me stop. I yanked it away, furious, remembering the dream I had the night before. The image of him pulling me toward his car haunted me. “What don’t you understand? Your girlfriend made it all up and accused me of flirting with you—and then you show up outside the restaurant like some stalker.” I stared into his eyes, trying to read him. He looked genuinely confused—or maybe he was just a great actor. “First of all, she’s not my girlfriend,” he said firmly. “And second, I had nothing to do with this.” He ran a hand through his beard, visibly uncomfortable. Then he looked back at me. “I came here because I have a proposition for you. Now that you’re out of work… it could be a great opportunity for you.” I crossed my arms and stomped my foot, barely holding myself back from hitting him. How convenient—he shows up, I lose my job, and now he’s offering me some ‘life-changing’ opportunity? “Oh really? What a hero… how generous,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Stop being sarcastic, girl,” he snapped, handing me a business card. “Go to my office.” Without another word, he got back into his car and left with a cold, unfriendly look. I looked down at the card—gray and black, elegant. It had an address and the name “Fletcher Ross” printed in bold. I wanted to throw it away. But something inside me told me to keep it, even though I blamed him for everything. On the way home, my mind spun with thoughts. I started worrying about how this sudden firing might affect my future job prospects. Would anyone believe my side of the story? When I reached my apartment building, Holly was just getting out of a cab. She looked at me with concern, clearly surprised I was home so early. She paid the driver and rushed over. “What happened, Sarah?” she asked gently, touching my face. I was on the verge of tears. “I was fired… and the worst part is, it wasn’t even my fault,” I said, barely holding myself together. I was devastated. If I’d made a real mistake, if I had deserved it, I would have accepted it and walked away with my head held high. But this? Being treated like I was just some random girl trying to flirt with a customer? It was humiliating and deeply unfair. “Don’t worry… everything’s going to be okay. Come on,” Holly said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. And together, we walked into the building.

Days passed, and I still couldn’t find a job. I sent my resume to countless places and received no replies. The fear started creeping in—maybe the way I’d been fired was haunting me. Maybe that girl’s family had influence. Or maybe that influential man, Fletcher, had a hand in this somehow.

Each day was the same: job boards, applications, emails—nothing. I’d come home exhausted and disheartened, empty-handed. That evening was no different. I walked into the apartment, and the warm, comforting smell of lasagna greeted me. Holly, as always, had managed to make things a little better.

She looked up from the kitchen and instantly read the disappointment on my face.

“It’s going to be fine, my friend. You’ll see. Now come eat—I was just waiting for you,” she said, setting the table.

“I hate that you have to take care of everything by yourself,” I mumbled as I sank into the chair, feeling defeated. “We’ve always shared everything.”

“That’s what friends