This story is by Diana Walton and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
“The car’s still out,” Maggie noticed and shifted her mind back to the screen. The time had flown; it was already past 7 PM. She pictured her sixteen-year-old son Martin in his room lost in his studies with headphones on, and wondered what Nick was up to.
Curiosity piqued, she strained to see if lights were on through the dense veil of trees. “There is light in the kitchen,” she noted and saw movement. Her husband Nick hustled from stove to screen with a podcast on – the perfect set to dismiss one’s reflections. She shakes off the distraction and returns to her article.
The phone rang. “Hey, honey! We’re about to have a light supper, just to let you know,” said Nick. “Alright, I’ll be there in five,” she responded.
Coat on, computer down, Maggie stepped outside and inhaled the crisp air. She closed her eyes, and the fox and owl sound from the forest eased her mind.
Walking towards the house, she glanced at the car again. But the irresistible home-cooking aroma triggered second thoughts on the car charge responsibility. “Nick’s cooking is a blessing,” she admitted crossing the threshold.
After a tranquil dinner with her family, Meggie got the car keys, and drove around the house and stables towards the garage. When she came out to unlock the door, a cold wind from the lake surprised her, and she covered her head with the soft hoodie. She put the code in and the sound revealed malfunction. She tried again. There was almost no sound or movement from the alarmed locker, likely battery-dead.
Maggie walked back home pretending she didn’t feel uncomfortable by sharing the news they couldn’t fully charge the car.
Nick’s eyes flashed before he turned away. “Knew it,” he snapped. “If only you’d listen!”, “Exactly what I was afraid of.” And the more he insisted, his frustration boiled over, “ How many times have I asked not to use the code and open the locker from inside?” He voiced in despair.
Maggie’s heart froze. Still, she said, “I didn’t use it often because when it’s minus degrees, it’s hard to pull the door, so, I only use the code sometimes.”
“Yeah, right!” Said Nick, “Unbelievable!” And putting on his coat he went off and fast-paced to the garage, “If we don’t have access to the high-voltage plug, we are stuck in the middle of nowhere!”
And he repeated himself at least ten times in a non-stop spiral, like a leaf caught in a whirlwind, tossed and turned. “And of course, I’m the one having to fix it.”
She grasped the frustration since an electric car without access to a high-voltage plug is problematic when living on a farm 10 minutes from the nearest village. After Nick lost his job four months ago, they opted for a less expensive car lease and the electric car dismissed gasoline expenses.
Watching his sudden leap from calm to fury, she was struck by the stark contrast against his claims of deep love.
Still, in an attempt to calm him down, she used all possible arguments. But her face turned red, and inside, she roared, “I feel like hitting him hard.” She left the scene to defuse her rage.
Trembling, she connected the car to the slow charger by the stables—a full day for a charge.
In the quiet spot, Maggie admitted he was right. He had warned before this could happen. But it’s her nature to be distracted. Amidst the chaos, she didn’t apologize. He often made simple things complex, anyway. His overreaction made her dismiss his point, as her father used to say: losing your temper means losing your credibility.
Glancing at the car’s screen, she saw the incoming energy — so simple, yet why the drama?
If family and friends could see him now, they’d find it as shocking as a mirror reflecting a stranger’s face. But he smoothens in front of everyone else.
Yet, she figured he was remorseful by now.
But enough was enough. “I can’t do this anymore. I’ll leave when I get the chance,” she resolved and in a flash, Maggie pictured her friends and family reactions. She dismissed the thought and drifted her mind to her son, “I hope Martin put his headphones back on.”
Maggie remained in the car until she felt her heartbeat steady. Overwhelmed with sorrow over enduring such moments for eighteen years, she plopped down on the sofa and turned on the TV to lose herself in an episode of Dr. House. It was a welcome distraction, diving into someone else’s narrative for a while.
Ninety minutes later, Nick offered in a gentle tone, “I can take Martin to school tomorrow if you’d like.” Maggie recognized his way of showing remorse. “No need, but thanks,” she responded.
The next day, alone in the kitchen, Maggie enjoyed her coffee and observed the sun’s glint on the frost. Martin appeared for breakfast and looked upbeat, yet she remained slightly worried if he hadn’t noticed last night’s tension.
Tapping her phone’s car app, she saw the charger managed 150 kilometers overnight. Again, why all the hustle? Activating the car’s heater, she headed off to dress. Her mind raced, energized about the day ahead. “I need to wrap up that article and reach out to another twenty contacts for the conference,” she planned, mixing worries with routine tasks.
The road to the school cuts through an idyllic pine tree forest, a slight runaway to deep dive into one’s emotions. But Martin broke the silence, “I’m not sure if it was a good idea to go for the electric car. It probably makes Dad more insecure. Don’t you think?”
Her mind was lost in her thoughts in the middle of conflicting views:
“This is your doing. It’s not just going to disappear,” she tells herself, only to counter, “Things have changed since we first married 18 years ago. He has improved.”
“How can you justify exposing your son to this behavior? It’s damaging to everyone,” she questions herself.
Yet, a part of the argument, “Look beyond the negatives. There are so many positive things he does, and Martin is alright.”
“Maybe he’s hiding his feelings, like you do to protect your son. You’ve been doing it since dealing with your parent’s relationship. And, Martin just showed you he knows what happened.”
“True, I’ve become an expert at hiding feelings. I wonder if it’s worth it to stay to keep the family together.”
Her mind was in turmoil. But replied to Martin, “Everything will be sorted out, dear. Don’t worry.” And left him at school.
She arrived home and took one more cup of coffee before returning to the cozy hut. “Good morning,” said Nick. He kissed Maggie on her cheek with constraint and hugged her, to her surprise, “I’m sorry for yesterday. I was so frustrated.” He said, in the hope of tender her heart.
She looked at him in silence and went back to her morning reads on her screen. At the moment, she couldn’t care less. Still, a thought crossed her mind: she never saw her father hugging her mom or asking for forgiveness. Maggie nodded.
Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer and said, “We need to talk,” Nicks’s eyes widened, and looked at her in silence.
She continued, “Whoever is right in any given circumstance, your temper doesn’t make me feel safe. You are a ticking bomb. Either you solve it with a professional, or I leave!” There, the ultimatum is out for him to digest.
“I am much better,” he replied with a grave tone. She agreed, “And that is why I’m still with you. But it is not enough. You must eradicate it – Your temper – completely for me to feel safe. Or this is over.”
Nick paused, searching Maggie’s eyes. Before he could speak, she continued, “Don’t tell me this comes as a surprise. You expected this, sooner or later. Martin’s nearly 17—he’s not a child.”
Maggie’s heart pumped faster and she took the chance to speak out the thoughts stuck inside for too long, “And you? You’re running from yourself. It’s exhausting. Even when cooking, your constant motion isn’t joy—it’s escape. When do you ever reflect? It’s not a waste of time, you know. It avoids you hurting yourself and others too.”
Nick was silent for a moment. The weight of Maggie’s words settling over him seemed to stir something deep within. Facing down but with his green eyes on her, “You’re right,” Nick conceded and took a deep breath. “That’s not the husband or father I want to be,” he admitted, his voice steadier, infused with a sincerity that came from looking inward for the first time in a long while. “I avoid facing myself. And I’ve hurt us by doing so.”
He paused and added, “I’ll contact a therapist tomorrow.”
With one more scene carved in her heart, still, for the first time in a long while, there was a glimmer of hope for her family.
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