Mom for Hire

Wendy's POV

On that autumn afternoon in Colorado, I stood in front of the stone cottage with my suitcase, palms already sweaty.

Breathe, Wendy. This is just a job, a contract.

But as I stared at the luxury house before me, my heart couldn't help but race. The stone exterior glowed honey-colored in the setting sun, and massive floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the golden silhouette of distant mountains.

Would this really become my "home"?

"Wendy!"

The door suddenly opened, and a man strode out quickly. The first time I saw Jason Morrison, I was almost stunned. That typical military build—broad shoulders, solid chest—even his walk carried that trained steadiness. A few shallow scars marked his face, adding a weathered quality to his handsome features.

"How was the drive?" he said warmly, bending down to take my suitcase.

"Fine. Beautiful house."

"Thanks." A flash of pride crossed his face. "Come on, let me show you inside. Living room's this way, kitchen's open concept..."

Just as I stepped one foot over the threshold, a soft "click" came from overhead.

Then, a stream of ice-cold water cascaded down.

"DAMN!" Jason cursed, quickly pulling me into his arms to shield me from most of the splash. A plastic bucket crashed to the doorway with a loud clang, water splashing everywhere.

I was pressed against Jason's chest, feeling his tense muscles and rapid breathing. For that instant, his faint cologne and masculine warmth made me dizzy.

"Are you okay?"

I looked up, meeting his concerned gaze.

"I never agreed to her moving in."

A cold voice drifted down from the staircase, like ice water extinguishing this accidentally intimate moment.

I pushed away from Jason and turned. A teenager stood on the stairs, maybe fourteen, with very delicate features and disheveled dark hair. His frame had that lanky quality typical of adolescence. But what struck me most was his expression—complete indifference, even contempt.

This was Liam, my stepson.

"Liam Morrison!" Jason's voice turned sharp instantly. "What the hell are you doing?"

The boy shrugged, expression still cold. "Welcome ceremony, Dad. Wasn't it special enough?"

Looking at the puddle on the floor, then at the obviously rigged bucket trap, bitterness welled up inside me. Sure enough, fitting into this family would be harder than I'd imagined.

"It's fine." I forced myself to stay calm, smiling at Jason. "Just a little prank."

Then I looked up at Liam, trying to sound friendly. "Hi, Liam. I'm Wendy."

He didn't respond, just gave me a cold look before turning and heading upstairs, leaving behind a trail of crisp footsteps.

Jason cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry, he... needs time to adjust."

I nodded, thinking: We all need time to adjust.

At dinner, the warm lighting in the open kitchen created a cozy atmosphere, but the tension in the air was thick enough to cut.

I bustled around the kitchen island, preparing a table of my best home-cooked dishes. This was the most basic thing I could do—prove my worth, prove this contract was worthwhile. I chose relatively safe dishes: honey-glazed chicken legs, garlic broccoli, creamy mashed potatoes, and a simple salad.

Delicious aromas wafted from the oven. The chicken skin was golden and crispy, the broccoli bright green and inviting. I carefully plated everything, even using a fork to create attractive patterns in the mashed potatoes.

"Smells really good." Jason approached from behind. He'd changed into a clean black T-shirt that emphasized his broad chest. "You didn't have to go to so much trouble. We're usually pretty casual."

"It's fine, I enjoy cooking." I smiled back at him. "Does Liam have any food allergies?"

"He eats everything, just... picky." Jason paused. "When Sarah used to make pasta, he'd always eat it happily."

Sarah—I knew that was his ex-wife. Second or third? I couldn't remember, only that she hadn't lasted long in this family either.

"Dinner's ready!" I called upstairs.

Liam dragged himself downstairs and sat at the dining table. His gaze swept over the dishes, then he wrinkled his nose dismissively.

We began eating in painfully awkward silence.

"How's school, Liam?" I tried to start conversation.

He chewed his chicken without looking up. "Fine."

"He's great at math, won a state competition award last semester," Jason quickly added.

"Oh, that's impressive!" I tried to show interest. "Have you thought about what you want to study?"

Liam glanced at me. "Not yet."

Then that terrible silence descended again. Only the sound of silverware clinking against plates.

"This chicken's... kind of dry, isn't it?" Liam suddenly spoke, his voice quiet but piercing in the silent dining room.

I stopped and looked at him. He was frowning, making a face of forced tolerance.

"I think it's pretty tender," Jason said quickly. "Wendy did a great job."

"Maybe." Liam shrugged. "But my mom's roast chicken was never this dry. She had this special recipe—always super tender, and way more flavorful seasoning than this."

Those words hit like needles, precisely piercing my heart.

I felt my cheeks burn, but tried to stay calm. I knew he was deliberately picking fights, knew this was the anger and resistance of a child who'd lost his mother.

"Liam, that's enough." Jason's voice was stern. "Apologize to Wendy."

"Why?" Liam's eyes widened innocently. "I'm just telling the truth. Her food really isn't as good as my mom's. This salad dressing's kind of sour too, my mom..."

"I said ENOUGH!" Jason shot up, his chair scraping harshly. "Don't you DARE talk to Wendy like that! She spent all afternoon on this meal!"

"I never asked her to!" Liam stood up too, voice agitated. "YOU brought her here, not me! I never said I wanted some new mom!"

Father and son faced off, the air crackling with tension. I sat between them, feeling like the fuse of this war.

I looked at Liam, seeing the anger and pain in his eyes. This wasn't a bad kid, just a wounded one. He'd lost his mother, and now faced the invasion of a strange woman.

"It's okay, Jason." I said quietly. "He misses his mom. That's natural. My cooking definitely has room for improvement."

Liam looked at me, surprise flashing in his eyes, as if he hadn't expected this response.

"I'm full." He stood up and headed straight for the stairs without another glance.

Jason started to stop him, but I gently tugged his sleeve and shook my head.

Watching Liam disappear at the staircase, I took a deep breath. This path was truly harder than I'd imagined.

Late at night, moonlight filtered through the master bedroom blinds, creating silver stripes on the floor.

I sat on the bed edge organizing my luggage, pulling out a photo—my wedding picture with my ex-husband. In it, I was smiling so brilliantly, eyes full of hope for the future.

How naive.

I put the photo in a drawer, my mind drifting back to those dark days months ago.

Gambling, debt, betrayal, abandonment. After Derek disappeared, he left a note: "Sorry, I owe too much money. They'll come for you." Six years of marriage ended with a note.

Creditors took turns threatening me. I lost my job, my apartment, almost everything. Desperate, I volunteered at the Veterans Medical Center.

That's where I met Jason Morrison.

The first time I saw him, he was comforting a young veteran with PTSD. That patience and gentleness drew me in. He looked tired and weathered, but when he talked about Liam, his eyes held a tender light.

We talked for hours. About his trauma, about my desperation.

"I need someone to take care of Liam, you need a fresh start," he said one day. "Maybe we could help each other."

"Contract marriage. A hundred thousand a year to care for Liam. No other expectations or obligations."

"This is just a business arrangement, right?" I asked.

"Right. I don't hope for real love anymore, Wendy. I just want Liam to have a stable family environment."

In that moment, I saw a lifeline, but also felt indescribable sadness. Two wounded people making compromises for survival.

Finally, I agreed. Not just for the hundred thousand, but because I saw sincerity and desperation in his eyes.

Now, lying in this strange room, I wondered if I'd made the right decision.

Soft snoring came from Jason's adjacent room. Upstairs was Liam's room. Everything was quiet, but I could feel the underlying tension in this household.

A strange family, a traumatized man, a resistant child.

This was my new life.