Story code: ST-001214
Part 2: The Replacement Offer
I took a deep breath, refusing to let the noise of the airport curb or the gathering crowd of onlookers rattle me. If Sarah was truly drowning under the weight of managing the family estate, then there was a simple, logical solution that didn’t require me to give up my career.
“Fine,” I said, looking her directly in the eyes. “If the burden is really that heavy, I’ll fix it. I will hire a professional property management service. I’ll pay for a full-time estate coordinator and a weekly administrative assistant starting tomorrow. They will handle the contractors, the bills, the maintenance, and the grocery runs. You won’t have to lift a finger.”
Sarah froze. Her smirk vanished, and her grip on her handbag slackened for a fraction of a second. “What?” she stammered, her voice losing its confident edge.
“I’ll cover the entire cost out of my own pocket,” I continued, watching her face closely. “I’ll call the local management agency right now and set up the contract. You can finally have your life back, Sarah. You can go back to marketing. You won’t have to sacrifice anything for this family anymore.”
Instead of the relief or gratitude I expected, a look of pure panic flashed across her face. Her eyes darted around the curb, avoiding my gaze, and she pulled her handbag closer to her chest. “No,” she said quickly, her voice pitching higher. “No, we don’t need strangers looking through our family files. I can handle it.”
“But you just said you couldn’t,” I pointed out, taking a step closer. “You said you gave up your youth and your career for this. This solves your problem completely, and it doesn’t cost you a dime. Why would you say no to professional help?”
“Because it’s a family matter, Leo!” she argued, her defensive posture stiffening. “A management company won’t care about the house the way we do. They’ll overcharge us, and they’ll mess up the paperwork. You’re just trying to throw money at the problem so you can feel less guilty about abandoning me.”
She was talking fast now, her cheeks flushing red as she stumbled over her excuses. I watched her adjust her grip on her expensive bag-the one she claimed she bought on clearance, though the pristine leather suggested otherwise. For months, she had sent me receipts for emergency repairs that always seemed to require quick cash or direct transfers from the shared estate funds.
If she was truly exhausted and trapped by these duties, a free professional replacement should have been a dream come true. Instead, she was fighting desperately to keep the burden she supposedly hated.
I looked down at the shared estate account app on my phone. If she didn’t want anyone else looking at the records, hiring contractors, or managing the house, it wasn’t about family pride. It was about keeping the details hidden. A sudden, unsettling realization began to take shape. I needed to see exactly where my monthly stipends and the estate funds had actually been going, but Sarah was already backing away toward her parked car, clutching my passport sleeve like a shield.