Laura lay on her side, numb to the creaking of the bed as Phillip rose. She watched the weary lines on his back, her mind drifting to all the things left unfinished, all the corners of her life yearning for attention. The floorboards groaned as he shuffled away, each sound a reminder of his failed attempts to fix the home—and, by extension, their lives.

Laura moved through the kitchen with resignation, preparing breakfast for Phillip as she had every morning. The toast sparked and blackened, the kettle whistled violently, and one cupboard door sagged perilously. She sighed, glancing around at the disarray, her heart heavy. Phillip entered, his lips barely brushing her forehead. "Oh, a static shock," he laughed, grabbing his burnt toast and scraping it over the sink before offering her another fleeting kiss. "Another static shock," he chuckled, before rattling the back door open and disappearing into the morning.

With Phillip gone, Laura sank into the sofa, the silence pressing in around her. She closed her eyes, imagining a life where things just… worked. The quiet was shattered by a gentle knock at the door, startling her from her reverie. She hesitated, then padded across the creaking floorboards to answer.

Dave, the odd job man, greeted her with a warmth she hadn’t felt in years. "Hello, I am Dave, a self-employed Odd Job Man—here’s my card!" His voice was smooth, his eyes earnest. Laura twirled the card, recalling Phillip's warnings about such men. Still, her curiosity—and something deeper—was piqued. "And what kind of jobs do you do?" she asked, her tone trying to mask her interest. "Anything you need," Dave replied, producing an oil can and deftly silencing the squeaky back door hinge. The silence that followed the door’s smooth closure lingered in the air, heavy with possibility.

Dave[/@ch_3] is already halfway down the path, his form silhouetted against the morning.] Laura hesitated, feeling a strange sense of loss as the house seemed quieter, somehow more peaceful. She flung open the now-silenced door and called after him. "Erm, how much do you charge?" Dave turned, his smile unwavering. "My rates are very reasonable. I can start right now," he said, lifting the garden gate back onto its hinges with practiced ease. "Well, if you do any odd job and your rates are that good, you can start," Laura replied, turning away, a hint of anticipation fluttering in her chest.

Dave returned each day, his quiet confidence and skill breathing new life into the house. Laura watched him work, her admiration growing with every completed task. She found herself lingering in doorways, drawn by his easy manner and the way he noticed everything—fixing not just the house, but the small things she’d long stopped hoping anyone would see. Yet she wondered: was it Dave himself she longed for, or the feeling of being cared for and seen?

Dave[/@ch_3] stands at the threshold, tools packed, ready to leave. The air is filled with both accomplishment and a quiet sadness.] "Your necklace is twisted, Mrs. Beckett," Dave said softly, his strong hands untangling the delicate gold. There was a gentleness in his touch, a warmth that lingered even as he stepped away. "Is there anything else you need?" Laura searched for a reason to keep him, but everything had been done. "No, Dave. Thank you. Everything is done," she whispered, her voice almost lost in the quiet. "Well, I'd better get home to the wife!" Dave replied with a wink, his politeness never faltering.

Laura[/@ch_1] sits quietly, her heart both heavy and hopeful. Through the window, the quiet street glows under the setting sun.] Dave drove away, his van gliding silently down the road. Laura traced her fingers along the smooth, newly-fixed surfaces, the silence in the house now comforting rather than oppressive. She whispered to the empty room, "You can call me Laura," longing hanging between words. As she watched the last light fade, she knew—though Dave was gone, the house, and perhaps her heart, had been mended. If things ever broke again, she’d know exactly who to call.