Page 1 of Because of Them

AUDREY

The smile on my face grows tighter than the knot forming in my stomach. I’ve been standing here, looking brighter than I feel, for over an hour. I stand even taller, pushing my shoulders back and loosening my grip on my clipboard. My wide smile never wavers, but my cheeks are beginning to strain. My feet hurt inside my professional kitten heels, my stomach is all twisted, and all I want to do is pull in the damn flags. But I still have a horde of potential buyers waiting their turn to traipse through the upmarket four-bedroom townhome with the biggest backyard in the suburb. Standing in a line across the manicured front yard, that is just a fraction of the huge outdoor space, each small group looks ready to throw down an offer and call it theirs.

The afternoon sun blasts down on us all, suspiciously bitey for late winter. I use the back of my sleeve to wipe the beadsof sweat from my forehead. The black cotton fabric comes away wet, and for once I’m thankful for the dark tone that forms the unofficial ‘uniform’ my boss insists on.

In the line, women stand in front of their partners, hiding away from the blinding glare and finding whatever small sliver of shade they can. A gentleman takes off his suit jacket, draping it over his shoulder to roll up the sleeves of his white business shirt. Too bad for all of them I already have the perfect buyer in mind. Securing such a prestige sale will be a huge boost to my career, and just what I need to finally convince my boss that I don’t need his head over my shoulder all the time. I wasn’t willing to risk it on the gamble of the open market.There is no doubt in my mind that my ex-husband will want to snap this property up for himself.

I don’t blame him. The back garden is the perfect blank canvas for growing flowers, and there is plenty of space for our daughter Maisie to play and grow. The modern facade and clean lines remind me of the renovations he used to plan for our house.

Callum and I officially divorced almost six months ago, but emotionally, we’ve been separated for much longer than that. It took me a while to get used to the idea of him moving on, and a fling of my own before I was ready to accept it. But as our relationship as co-parents continues to improve, I’m finally ready to help him move on with his life. In a professional capacity, at least.

My bitterness stopped me from helping him search for a new house early on. It was fun, watching him move into a tiny two-bedroom unit. How petty I was … and it turns out that two-bedroom unit was exactly what he needed to find his true love.

If only the same could be said for me. But no. My brief adventure into the world of dating apps was cut ceremoniouslyshort. Turns out everyone blushes over a single dad, but single mums are much harder to love.

My fling with Michael was … everything and nothing all at once. He was young and immature, but I sat across the picnic table from him, and I was transfixed. His body builder physique was overpowering in all the right ways, and no sexy man bun could steal my attention from the way his henley clung to his rock-hard abs. I craved to feel what it would be like to be under him, if only for a night. It was incredible. More intensely electric than anything I’d felt before, as though our bodies were hardwired with the same cables.

I wanted more, and I got it … a few times. Until he ghosted me. For weeks. And I was left with nothing more than the memory of his weight settling over my core and butterflies that slowly started to die with his lack of contact. It still haunts me, pulling at my gut and beating against my heart.

His nonstop messages now won’t make up for the utter drop off I experienced then. Sure, he was fun and had all these little ways to show me that he cared, but I was only in it for the mind-blowing sex anyway. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself these past few weeks.

“When will the owner stop accepting offers?”

A cheery couple bursts into my line of sight as they skip through the wide-open front door. They stand too close, fingers looped together as they bounce on their toes, no idea of the bubble around them. The one that’s sure to burst.

I don’t believe in everlasting love, not anymore.

I swallow down the lump that’s been sitting in my throat all day. “A few weeks, I think. But my understanding is that they are ready to sell as soon as possible. It’s safe to assume they will sign as soon as they get the right offer.”

As soon as they get Callum’s offer, that is.

A fresh wave of nausea rushes over me. My immaculate posture softens, and I throw my hand onto the doorframe to steady myself. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, that’s all. And I haven’t had anything to drink the whole time I’ve been standing here. This opening was supposed to end an hour ago, but if I don’t get food soon, I might pass out. Or vomit, oddly.

The couple takes a card, promising to email through their offer. Ignoring the twisting in my stomach, I bid them farewell before turning my attention to the final group wanting to check out the property. I check my watch after they pass me. If they can be in and out within twenty minutes, I won’t be late to pick up Maisie from kindergarten.

My phone buzzes with a string of messages in my pocket.

“Maisie?” My boss asks from the other side of the front porch. His head gestures towards my hip, where the lit phone screen shines through my dark linen pants.

“Probably not. They would call, not send a barrage of texts.”

I don’t need to pull my phone out to know it’s Michael. As if his almost daily attempts to win me back weren’t annoying enough, the man doesn’t know how to compile his thoughts into a single message before hitting send. It’s infuriating. Especially while I’m trying to remain professional.

My career in real estate is finally taking off. It stalled, as so many mother’s careers do, when Maisie was younger. Stalled again when my marriage fell apart and I took some extended leave. Now that Maisie is in kindergarten, and the custody agreement is properly underway, I’m back. I can focus more of my time and energy into selling the kind of homes I wish to buy for myself one day.

In a few short months I’ve climbed the top seller ranks, even if my boss is struggling to give me the credit I deserve. When I chose this career, I never imagined making the top ten realtors in the area, let alone being number two. But that’s where I am.If I can sell this house with a big enough return, I might even hit the number one spot. I just have to get through this open first.

Regardless of how much I believe I’ve found the perfect buyer, ethically I need to do the right thing here. Other buyers have the right to look through the property, and however slim it might be, there is always the chance that some other rich hot shot will swoop in and make a better offer than Callum does.

I know it’s wrong to judge books by their covers, or in this case, a buyer’s bank account by their appearance, but my instinct on these things is rarely wrong. I doubt any of the families or so-called investors that walked through today have the same bargaining power as my ex-husband.

My stomach lurches again as my boss bids farewell to the final couple.

“Are you okay?”

I swallow down a lump of bile. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll lock up here, you get some food before you get Maisie. You look pale.” He huffs, a smug look on his face as he dismisses me.

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