Being rich, Kath often said, wasn’t quite the dream people imagined. It was a lovely thing, yes—convenient, freeing, indulgent in all the right ways. But it came with a peculiar ache. A soft, persistent emptiness that money couldn’t hush. People thought having everything meant you wanted for nothing. But that wasn’t true. Not really. Because when you had everything, you started to notice what wasn’t there. Or rather… who.
Kath was thirty-four. Unmarried. Unbothered by it, at least outwardly. She owned her business outright—built it from the ground up with nothing but grit, charm, and a Rolodex of favors she never forgot to repay. It was booming now. She made more money than she could count. But what was the point of all that wealth when there was no one to spoil? No one to surprise with little luxuries, no one to share the quiet, golden hours with.
Tonight, she stayed late at the office. Not because she had to—she rarely had to anymore—but because the silence of her penthouse felt heavier than the rustle of papers and the hum of the city below. Her tan blouse was slightly rumpled, sleeves pushed up, the top button undone. Her dark hair, once pinned with care, had slipped free, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. She wasn’t tired. Not in the usual sense. Just… tired of the coldness that came from being alone too long.
Her assistant was still here. A young woman—bright, capable, and clearly struggling. Kath noticed things. She always had. The modest lunches. The eagerness to take on extra hours. The way she arrived early, always early, just in time to snag the complimentary coffee and donut before the others. It made Kath ache. Not just for the girl’s hardship—but for the tenderness of noticing. For the ache of wanting to help and not knowing how to do it without making it feel like charity.
She picked up her phone, dialing in dinner. Something warm, something indulgent. Something that would fill the room with the scent of comfort.
“What do you want, dear,” she said, her voice velvet-smooth, but firm. It wasn’t a question. It was an invitation. A command wrapped in kindness.
The girl hesitated, of course. They always did. Then, softly, she answered.
Kath hung up the phone, leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, eyes—dark and unreadable—settling on the young woman across the room.
That felt good.
Buying for someone. Providing. It stirred something in her chest, something she hadn’t felt in years. She had so much to give. So much that had gone untouched. And for once, someone had let her.
Maybe that would change things.
Maybe, just maybe… she wouldn’t have to give it all to the silence.
Maybe she could save this… struggling young girl.