The Three-Person Household

Aimee had never lived in an apartment quite like this.

It was clean—almost too clean. The floors sparkled, the bookshelves were perfectly organized, and everything had a place. Even the coffee table magazines were lined up like they were in a hotel lobby. It was clear Ralph Hall lived like he taught: meticulously.

And now she and Yanely were intruding on that perfect order.

Their first official morning as “residents” in Mr. Hall’s apartment began with the sound of sizzling.

Aimee shuffled into the kitchen in borrowed sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. “You cook?” she asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Ralph glanced at her over his shoulder, an apron tied neatly over his shirt. “I eat, don’t I?”

She blinked. “I thought you were the takeout-for-every-meal kind.”

“I used to be. But it turns out real food tastes better.” He flipped a pancake with precise timing. “There’s tea on the counter. Sugar’s in the third cabinet from the left.”

Aimee took the mug gratefully and leaned against the counter. The whole thing still felt surreal. Last night, she’d been sobbing in the rain. Now she was sharing a kitchen with her teacher-husband.

Yanely padded in next, hair sticking up wildly. “Whoa! Mr. Hall can cook?”

“It’s Ralph at home,” Ralph reminded him gently, setting a plate on the table. “Unless you prefer ‘Chef Ralph.’”

Yanely giggled and took his seat. “Chef Ralph it is!”

The three of them sat together, and for the first time in weeks, Aimee felt something close to normal.

That illusion shattered an hour later.

“Aimee, where are my socks?” Yanely called from the hallway, mouth full of toothpaste.

“They’re in your—oh no.” Aimee froze mid-step, eyes wide.

Ralph looked up from his book. “What’s wrong?”

“The socks are in the bag. The bag I left by the door. The one labeled ‘EMERGENCY’.”

Ralph blinked. “You mean the bag with your clothes, toiletries… school uniforms?”

“Yes,” she groaned. “And it’s still in your car.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course it is.”

Ten minutes later, the three of them were crammed in his small car, racing back to the school parking lot. Aimee sat in the back, head bowed in mortification, while Ralph drove with the kind of calm that only made her more anxious.

“First full day of our secret married life,” she muttered, “and I’m already dragging you into chaos.”

He glanced at her in the mirror. “You didn’t drag me. I volunteered.”

Her eyes met his for a split second, and she quickly looked away.

Back at the apartment, things slowly began to settle. They divvied up chores—Ralph cleaned, Aimee handled the laundry, and Yanely enthusiastically took charge of watering Ralph’s poor, neglected plants.

By the end of the day, they had a system. Sort of.

That night, as Aimee lay on the futon in the guest room, she stared at the ceiling.

This wasn’t how she imagined her first experience living with someone would be—married, yes, but pretending not to be. Surrounded by textbooks, dishes, and a ten-year-old snorer.

Still, there was something strangely comforting about it.

Maybe, just maybe, this crazy idea might actually work.

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