From the outside, Claire had everything people said they wanted in a partner—she was smart, attractive, quick-witted, and had a laugh that could make even the most guarded person smile. She was the kind of woman who could hold a conversation about anything, from politics to pop culture, and she carried herself with a confidence that came from knowing exactly who she was. But there was one thing about her life that seemed to send potential partners running for the door.
It wasn’t that she kept some deep, dark personal secret or had an impossible list of expectations. No—what seemed to scare men away was her job.
Claire was a funeral director.
She hadn’t planned on this career when she was younger. Like many people, she stumbled into it unexpectedly. After losing her father in her early twenties, she had been deeply moved by the compassion and professionalism of the people who helped her family through the grief process. At the time, she was working a forgettable office job, something that paid the bills but left her feeling unfulfilled. Seeing how much of a difference those funeral home staff made inspired her to pursue the work herself.
She went back to school, got the necessary training, and within a few years, she was running services, comforting families, and managing the delicate logistics of saying goodbye to loved ones. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was meaningful. She loved helping people through some of the hardest moments of their lives.
But dating? That was another story entirely.
At first, she didn’t think much about how her profession might affect her love life. On first dates, when the inevitable “So, what do you do?” question came up, she’d answer honestly, expecting maybe a curious follow-up or two. Instead, she often saw the other person’s expression shift—sometimes subtly, sometimes not at all subtly. The smile would falter, the posture would change, and the conversation would grow a little stilted.
Some men would try to make a joke about it—usually something tasteless about ghosts or coffins—but the discomfort was obvious. Others wouldn’t say much in the moment, but afterward, the text messages would stop coming, the calls would go unanswered. She had more than one date end early with the flimsy excuse of “something came up.”
She learned to recognize the signs: the polite nodding, the forced laugh, the subtle pulling away. At first, it hurt. She couldn’t understand how a job—something that didn’t define her whole identity—could be a deal-breaker for so many. But as time went on, she realized it wasn’t really about her. It was about what her job represented to them.
Death makes people uncomfortable.
Her work forced people to think about mortality, about the fragility of life—things many would rather avoid. Some men confessed, if they made it far enough into the dating process to be honest, that they found her work “too morbid.” Others admitted they didn’t like the idea of her being around the dead every day. One even told her, “I just can’t imagine kissing you knowing where you’ve been all day.” That one stung.
For a while, Claire tried different strategies. She experimented with leaving her job vague on dating apps, writing only “works in the service industry” or “business manager.” This got her more matches, but eventually the truth came out—and the reactions didn’t change much.
She thought about switching careers more than once, not because she disliked the work, but because she wondered if it would make her personal life easier. But every time she considered it, she felt a pang of loyalty to the families she served. She knew she was good at her job. She knew it mattered. Why should she have to give that up because some people couldn’t see past their own discomfort?
Then came the night she met Evan.
They were introduced through mutual friends at a small dinner party. Conversation flowed easily, and she noticed right away that he didn’t shy away from deeper topics. He asked thoughtful questions, listened intently, and laughed at her dry humor. She felt a spark of hope—until, of course, the dreaded question came.
“So, what do you do?” he asked, sipping his drink.
Claire hesitated, instinctively bracing for the usual reaction. “I’m a funeral director,” she said evenly.
To her surprise, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned forward slightly. “Really? That’s fascinating. How did you get into that?”
It wasn’t feigned interest—he genuinely wanted to know. She told him the story of her father, of how the experience had shaped her, of the deep meaning she found in her work. He listened without a hint of discomfort, even asking about the more challenging aspects of the job.
By the end of the night, she realized something important: it wasn’t her job that was the problem. It was the men she’d been meeting.
Evan wasn’t afraid of the reality her work represented. He understood that her job didn’t define her entirely but was a reflection of her empathy, resilience, and ability to show up for others in moments of profound vulnerability. Over time, their relationship deepened, and he would often tell her how much he admired the strength it took to do what she did every day.
Looking back, Claire no longer saw those failed dates as rejections of her. They were simply signs that those men weren’t ready—or willing—to face the kind of truths her career brought to light. The right person, she realized, wouldn’t run from that. They’d respect it.
And while she didn’t suddenly become immune to awkward conversations on first dates, she stopped letting the reactions get to her. She began to see them as a shortcut—an early way to figure out who was capable of standing beside her in the life she actually lived, not the one they imagined for her.
Claire’s story was no longer about men ditching her when they found out her job. It was about finding someone who saw the value in her work, who could handle both the light and the dark that came with it. And once she found that, she realized she wouldn’t have it any other way.
If you want, I can also rewrite this with more dialogue and vivid first-date scenes, so you can feel the exact moment those men pulled away—and the moment someone didn’t. That would make the contrast even sharper.
