Sir, could you pretend to be my husband… just for one day?» the white woman whispered to the black man in the crowded cafe. Derrick Carter, thirty-eight, a history teacher at an Atlanta high school, nearly choked on his coffee. He was grading papers while waiting for his order when the stranger appeared at his table. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a hurry, her breathing was short, and her trembling hands gripped a leather bag.
«Excuse me?» Derrick asked, lowering his glasses.
«My name is Emily Lawson,» she said hastily, casting nervous glances toward the plate-glass windows. «Please—don’t think I’m crazy. I just need you to play along for a moment. My father is outside. He doesn’t know I filed for divorce, and he will never accept that I left my husband. If he sees me alone, he will force me to go back to Ohio.»
Derrick’s brow furrowed. He had no reason to get involved. This was not his business. He had already experienced enough complicated relationships, and the last thing he needed was to be dragged into someone else’s drama.
But the despair in her eyes troubled him. Emily looked like a person out of options.
Before he could respond, an older, tall man in a dark coat walked into the cafe. His presence was imposing, his gaze searching the room with suspicion. Emily gripped Derrick’s arm. «Please,» she breathed.
There was something in her voice—pleading yet dignified—that made Derrick nod before he even realized it.
Emily straightened up and forced a smile. «Dad,» she said, «you remember Derrick, don’t you? My husband.» The man’s eyes froze on Derrick. A thick silence seemed to engulf the cafe, as if everyone else had disappeared. Derrick stood up, extended his hand with studied calm, and said, «It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir.»
The father’s handshake was cold, taxing, and his sharp gaze measured Derrick as if determining whether he was worthy—or an impostor.
The conversation stretched on, uncomfortably. Emily’s father, Charles Lawson, asked sharp, calculated questions. What did Derrick do for a living? Where did he and Emily live? How long had they been married?
Derrick, a history professor skilled in the art of storytelling, relied on improvisation. He explained that they had met during a literacy volunteer program, bonded over books, and married three years ago. Emily added details with ease, as if she had rehearsed the script in her head.
Charles remained unconvinced, however. «Emily, you’ve always struggled to choose the right people. Are you sure this is the life you want?»
Emily’s knuckles whitened around her cup. «Yes, Dad. I’m sure.»
Derrick noticed her hand trembling beneath the table. He placed his palm over hers—firm yet gentle. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away. The contact, even though fake, calmed her.
Charles sighed. «Marriage is work. I just hope you aren’t making another mistake.»
When Charles finally left, Emily let out such a deep exhale that her whole body seemed to deflate. Derrick pushed his coffee aside and leaned closer. «Do you want to tell me what’s really going on?» he asked gently.
Tears welled up in her eyes. «My father doesn’t believe in divorce. To him, a wife must obey, no matter what. I married young to a man who controlled everything—my job, my friends, even my clothes. I left him six months ago. But if my father finds out, he will try to force me to go back.»
Derrick rubbed his temple. «So you needed a substitute husband.»
Emily nodded. «I’m sorry to have put you in this position. I panicked when I saw him.»
Derrick could have walked away. Yet, Emily’s courage—filing for divorce despite her father’s control—touched him. He remembered his own mother, who raised him alone after leaving an abusive marriage. Maybe that’s why he agreed without hesitation. «Look,» he said, «I don’t know your whole story. But if you need me to cover for you—at least for today—I will.»
Her eyes softened, relieved. «Thank you.»
Neither of them knew that this little game was about to change their lives.
The next day, Emily called Derrick to apologize again for involving him in her personal war. She offered to buy him dinner as a thank you. Against his cautious nature, Derrick accepted.
Over barbecue at a modest Southern restaurant, they talked freely. What started as small talk blossomed into hours of conversation. Emily confessed that she had studied art history but gave up her passion because her ex-husband put her down. Derrick shared that he almost quit teaching, worn out by the system, but stayed to give students the hope he himself had needed. They discovered laughter between them. Emily gently mocked Derrick’s obsession with baseball statistics; Derrick teased her for always staining her shirt while eating ribs. The walls around them—his suspicious reserve, her constant fear—slowly cracked.
Weeks passed. They saw each other again and again, no longer pretending. The role of fake husband became irrelevant. Derrick invested himself in Emily’s path to independence. He encouraged her to apply to a downtown gallery. She, in turn, pushed him to publish the book on civil rights history that he had been secretly writing for years.
One evening, leaving the gallery where Emily had just been hired, she stopped on the steps and looked at him with gratitude.
«You know what’s funny?» she said. «I asked you to pretend to be my husband for one day. And you’ve been more present than the man I actually married ever was.»
Derrick smiled, shaking his head. «Life is full of surprises.»
Months later, when Emily introduced Derrick to her father again—this time for real—Charles examined him with the same cold suspicion. But Emily now stood tall, composed, unwavering.
«This is Derrick,» she said in a firm voice. «Not my make-believe husband. My partner.»
The unexpected ending wasn’t that Emily found someone new. It was that she found her voice, her choices, and her freedom—and along the way, Derrick found a love rooted not in acting, but in truth.
