The shadow wife

I stood outside Lyra's small apartment, fidgeting with the bouquet of flowers and basket of fresh fruit I had brought. I had never been to her home before, and I wasn't sure what to expect.

I took a deep breath, rang the doorbell, and waited. The door creaked open, and Lyra's eyes widened in shock as she took in my presence.

Her mouth hung open, and for a moment, she just stared at me, as if she couldn't believe her eyes. I felt a pang of concern as I took in her appearance. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, and her skin looked pale and drained. She looked like she had been crying for days.

"Mr. Anderson?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What are you doing here?"

I held out the flowers and fruit, feeling a little awkward. "I brought these for you," I said, trying to sound casual. "I was worried about you, and I wanted to check in."

Lyra's eyes filled with tears as she took the gifts from me. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking.

I followed her into the apartment, taking in the cozy but cluttered space. There were stacks of books and papers everywhere, and a faint scent of cooking wafted through the air.

Lyra collapsed onto the couch, looking exhausted and at the same time cautious. I sat down beside her, feeling a surge of concern.

"Lyra, what's going on?" I asked, taking her hand in mine. "You look like you've been through hell."

Lyra's eyes welled up with tears again, and she took a deep breath before speaking. "It's my mom," she said, her voice shaking. "She's...she's really sick."

I squeezed her hand, feeling a pang of empathy. "I'm so sorry, Lyra," I said, meaning it. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Lyra looked up at me, her eyes searching. "Just being here helps," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I smiled, feeling a sense of connection with her. "I'm not going anywhere," I said, meaning it.

I pulled Lyra into a warm embrace, holding her close. At first she was shocked and scared but she slowly relaxed and she broke down in tears. She felt fragile and vulnerable in my arms, and I wanted to protect her from the world.

As she cried, Lyra began to open up to me about her mother's illness. "She has stage 4 cancer," Lyra said, her voice shaking. "The doctor says she needs to be admitted to the hospital for treatment, but...but I don't know how I'm going to afford it."

I felt a surge of anger and frustration on Lyra's behalf. How could the medical system fail someone as kind and hardworking as Lyra and her mother?

"I want to see your mother," I said, pulling back to look at Lyra. "And I want to help with the hospital bills."

But Lyra's expression turned stubborn, and she shook her head. "No, sir. I don't want your help. I can take care of my mother on my own."

I felt a pang of disappointment, but I tried to understand Lyra's perspective. She was proud and independent, and I admired that about her.

"Lyra, please," I said, trying to reason with her. "Let me help. I have the means to make a difference."

But Lyra's expression remained resolute. "I appreciate your offer, Mr Anderson. But I need to do this on my own."

I sighed, feeling frustrated but also admiring Lyra's strength and determination. I knew I had to respect her wishes, even if I didn't agree with them. I spent some time with her to comfort and reassure her before leaving.

I didn't push the issue further, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that I needed to do something to help Lyra and her mother. So, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I managed to get Lyra's mother's contact information from Mrs. Jenkins, and I paid her a visit the next day. She lived in a small, cozy apartment on the other side of town, and I was struck by the similarities between her and Lyra.

We had a brief discussion, and I was moved by her kindness and strength. I urged her to convince Lyra to take her to the hospital for a check-up and treatment. I also promised to take care of the medical bills, without Lyra's knowledge.

The next day, I saw Lyra again, and I could see the weight of her worries bearing down on her. I urged her to take her mother to the hospital, and to return to work as soon as possible.

"My mother will notice your absence soon," I said, trying to reason with her. "And I don't want her to start asking questions or fire you from your job"

Lyra nodded, looking relieved. "I'll take her to the hospital tomorrow," she promised.

I smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction. I had taken the first step in helping Lyra and her mother, without Lyra's knowledge and I felt accomplished.

Lyra took her mother to the hospital as promised and she got admitted and Lyra returned back to work. I made sure Lyra's mother got the best medical care. Thinking about Lyra I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of admiration for her. She was strong, resilient, and selfless, always putting others before herself.

But it was more than that. I felt a flutter in my chest whenever she was near, a sense of excitement and nervousness that I couldn't explain. I found myself looking for excuses to be around her, to talk to her, to just be in her presence.

I tried to brush it off as mere concern for her well-being, but deep down, I knew it was more. I was developing feelings for Lyra, feelings that went beyond friendship or mere acquaintances.

But what did it mean? And what could I do about it? I was a member of the wealthy and influential Smith family, and Lyra was just a maid. The social divide between us was vast, and I knew that my family would never approve of a relationship between us.

And yet, I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something special between us, something that went beyond social class or family expectations.