“Sir, could you please act like you’re my husband… just for today?” the white woman murmured to the black man inside the bustling café.
Derrick Carter, a thirty-eight-year-old history teacher from Atlanta, almost spit out his coffee. He had been reviewing assignments while waiting for his lunch when the stranger appeared at his table. Her blond hair was carelessly tied, her breath uneven, and her hands trembled as she clung to a leather bag.
“Pardon me?” Derrick asked, sliding his glasses down.
“My name’s Emily Lawson,” she blurted out, darting nervous glances toward the wide windows.
“Please—don’t think I’ve lost my mind. I only need you to play along for a short while. My father just showed up. He doesn’t know I’ve filed for divorce, and he’ll never accept me leaving my husband. If he finds me alone, he’ll drag me back to Ohio.”
Derrick frowned deeply. He had no reason to interfere. This wasn’t his problem.
But the desperation swimming in her gaze unsettled him. Emily looked like a woman with no other escape.
Before Derrick could reply, an older man in a heavy coat stepped into the café. His presence commanded attention, his eyes sweeping over faces with suspicion. Emily’s fingers gripped Derrick’s sleeve tightly.
“Please,” she breathed.
Something about the way she said it—desperate yet dignified—made Derrick nod almost without realizing it.
Emily straightened, forcing a smile. “Dad, you remember Derrick, right? My husband.”
Her father’s sharp eyes fell upon Derrick. The room grew still, as if time had slowed. Derrick rose, extended his hand with calm precision, and said, “Sir. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”
Mr. Lawson’s handshake was rigid, his stare unyielding, as though testing whether Derrick was genuine or a fraud. And when his cold eyes fixed on me, I realized this wasn’t just a small favor—it was the start of something bound to reshape our lives.
Emily’s father studied Derrick with suspicion. Emily’s younger sister, Anna, soon entered, stunned to see her sibling’s supposed husband. Emily stiffened but forced composure.
Mr. Lawson asked,
— “Emily… are you all right? Why are you saying this now?”
— “I… I’ve faced too much, Dad. But not now. You thought I was still with Dudley—I was terrified you’d find me alone.”
Derrick stepped in, his tone gentle:
— “I came to support her, Mr. Lawson. I stand by her.”
The man looked long at Emily, and for the first time, a trace of acceptance softened his stern face.
— “Very well, Derrick. If you care for my daughter, then… perhaps you’ve already done more than anyone else has.”
Later, Emily whispered her thanks:
— “You can’t imagine how much this means to me.”
And Derrick realized that what had begun as a desperate plea had become a true chance to matter.
“From Pretend To Real Change.”
Weeks later, Derrick and Emily crossed paths again—this time not bound by a temporary pretense, but by the beginnings of real friendship. Emily had moved near Atlanta with her father’s academic and financial help, while Clarence, her brother, welcomed them to family dinners.
Derrick found in Emily a resilient woman carrying hope. Emily discovered in Derrick not just a friend but a trusted companion. One evening, gazing skyward, she said softly:
— “I never asked you to be my husband—I only asked you to stand by me. But you became more than I dreamed.”
— “You were my wife that day,” he answered warmly. “And if you’ll allow it… I’d like to be more still.”
Thus began not only her recovery, but also a love neither predicted—one forged not through grand gestures, but through something simple yet profound: the need for safety, acceptance, and… true love.
