I stared down at the gun trembling in my hands, knowing in my heart that I could never go through with what needed to be done. Once I did, my life would be over. This one act would shatter my world into a million splintered pieces and destroy me forever. But despite the consequences, I aimed the gun at his head.
A scatter of noises competed in the dark void of the freezing night for my attention as he continued to beg and plead with me. But I couldn’t hear him. He sounded like he was underwater, drowning beneath the surge of a raging tide there was no point fighting. I couldn’t comprehend anything but the static of fear below me, creeping out into the night sky. All I heard was a desperate utterance escaping his lips, starving to live.
“You don’t have to do this,” my husband Darren said as I aimed the pistol. My finger wrapped around the trigger as a decision entered my brain.
I’d run out of time and options. I’d run out of excuses. There was no other choice, and my refusal would have a far worse outcome. He had gone to great lengths to bring us all to this moment. How had I not seen this coming?
The signs had all been there. The warnings had been clear. His past threats floated into the forefront of my mind on a loop, preventing me from thinking of an alternative.
“I have to,” I whispered, eyes closed. My words were weak and crippled, but they could all hear me.
“Please,” Darren said. “There has to be another way. There’s still time to undo this.”
I opened my eyes and felt my aim tighten. The trigger began to squeeze. I saw the scene again, like a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. My eyes wouldn’t shy away from the misery before me. I wasn’t given that dignity, not while he remained alive.
I sensed the pressure all around me and understood that this was the end. There was no coming back once a decision had been made. If I survived this moment, I would never be free.
All I could wonder in those dying seconds was why was I here? And how did everything come down to this moment?
Our house was only three years old when we first moved in. Now, after nine years of family meals at our oak dining table, of scuff marks and dents left on the walls, of growing feet dragging stains over the carpet, it felt like it had been around for half a century. It wasn’t the physical state of our home that gave it this age, but the inescapable drama my family seemed to fall victim to.
The four-bedroom, three-bathroom modern colonial had originally been built by my husband, Darren, and the construction company he once worked for in our quiet town of Clearwater Hills, Illinois. When news got around that the owners had lost the house after failing to make timely repayments on the loan, Darren practically begged for us to buy the dream home he’d built for someone else. Seeing as the house was only across town and up for auction, starting at a once-in-a-lifetime price, I had no choice but to agree. What a mistake that would turn out to be.
“God, this was a steal,” Darren said the day we moved in. He kept muttering about how lucky we were and how satisfied he was to finally live in a house he’d put together with his own two hands. He was proud to put our names down on the contract, Darren and Emma Turner. The global financial crisis made the house affordable at the time, but the same event caused my husband to lose his job six months later.
So the cycle of fools buying property they couldn’t afford continued on a steady yet predictable path. For the next four years, we struggled. Darren went from one job to the next, doing what he could to help make ends meet. I maintained a full-time admin position at the University of Chicago, while also running our household and getting our son, Jayden, off to school each day.
Life remained hectic, to say the least. I managed a strict weekly routine that the flap from a butterfly’s wing could disrupt. I’d run between Jayden’s responsibilities, work, and home, on top of keeping Darren’s spirits afloat. I felt like I had four different jobs and got paid for one. When my father died in a car crash, the system came to a grinding halt.
My dad lived in town, on his own. My mother had passed away a few years prior, succumbing to breast cancer. Once the pain of her loss began to fade, he put all his energy into being a lecturer at the university. His death was a gut blow, not only to me but also to the faculty, especially considering his age: sixty-three. He was in those prime years to unload his knowledge onto the world. Instead, he died pointlessly when a truck plowed into his car at an intersection he’d been through countless times before.
My dad had been at the school for most of his career and secured me the admin job I currently held after failing to show the same effortless talent for academia he had at the same age. Despite my inabilities, he never once made me feel less important or like a failure for not rising to his level.
With Darren between paying jobs during a time when the country possessed too many houses and not enough employed people to live in them, we were struggling more than usual when my father’s life was cut short. His death, however, came with a silver lining in the form of a substantial inheritance, the size of which would change our lives and allow us to keep our dream home during the rough seas ahead.
The timing was insane given how close we came to losing it all. Every time I’ve looked at our house since that day, I have thought about my father and the hard work he put in over the years. I didn’t want a single cent of his money to go to waste. But, of course, the purest of intentions inevitably fail.
A few months after we got back on track, Darren came to me with a proposal of sorts. He wanted to take the plunge and start up his own construction business.
“I know all the talent around town,” he said to me. “I know all the best suppliers and can lock down some solid connections. I just need the start-up money to get this going.”
Everything he said sounded safe on paper. The financial crisis was in the past, and the construction industry had started to pull itself out of the ashes. People were building houses again. Darren argued that it would be the ultimate time to take advantage of the rare situation. How could I say no? He was the person I loved more than anyone else in the world, short of our son. I not only believed him, I believed in him.
That was five years ago. Now, after nine years of living in our home, I was thirty-seven. Darren’s business was thriving, and our fourteen-year-old son, Jayden, spent his days at Clearwater Hills Middle School. Everything was on track for our perfect life in our quiet American town.
So why did the well-maintained house my husband had constructed seem so old to me now? Because our seemingly perfect life was far from the pure and enviable domestication it appeared to be. Our world was about to come apart, and we had no idea.
“Have you seen my phone?” Darren asked me as he scurried around the kitchen, tossing and turning old newspapers and dishes to find his smartphone. I handed the device to him from the pocket of my dressing gown, unsuccessfully hiding a smirk.
“You left it in the bathroom again, honey,” I said as he yanked it out of my hand. I wished he wouldn’t snatch things like that.
“Stupid.” He gave himself a mock slap on the head, not thanking me for finding his cell. I could see the wrinkles around his eyes creasing harder than usual. His misplaced phone wasn’t the only reason he was pretending to hit himself.
“Is everything okay? You seem a bit frazzled.”
He stared at me for half a second with his mouth partially agape. “Nothing. Just trying to organize a world full of idiots on this never-ending project.”
“The contract? How’s it all going?”
“Crazy, of course. We’ve still got thirty houses to build, and not enough time to do it in. Typical corporate developers never think of how these things are supposed to go. They slap down some concept art with a ‘Coming Soon’ sign and expect the rest to fall into place. Whenever things slow down, their answer is to just throw money at you.”
“But money is good, right?”
He shook his head. “Not if time’s against you.”
I could see his shoulders tensing up with every word. I inched closer to him and put my hands on his biceps. Even they felt stiff and full of stress. “You’ve got this, okay? If any company can pull this contract off, it’s the team from D. Turner Construction. Believe in yourself.” I played the role of supportive wife on autopilot.
His eyes didn’t project back the confidence I tried to beam into him. He scratched at his scruffy hair and let his hand fall to the two-week-old beard he had been growing.
“Thanks for the pep talk, honey, but I’ve got to go.” He moved away from my grip and seized his oversize travel mug, which was filled to the brim with double-strength coffee. I might as well have said nothing.
“Are we still on for tonight?” I asked him as he made his way to the front door.
“Uh, yeah. Of course,” he said without looking back. “I’ll be home by six. Love you.”
I never got to say the words back to him as the door slammed shut. I found myself edging up to the small glass window by the entry to pull aside its curtain. Darren was already climbing into his work truck, on the phone, blasting out the next person in the chain that needed a kick in the pants to move the project forward. I didn’t envy him, but at the same time, I wished he’d pay me some more attention. This contract had been going on for far too long.
I thought back to some of the potentially questionable activities Darren had had to do in order to keep this contract afloat. The timeline simply didn’t seem possible, given my knowledge of how long it took to build a house. All I hoped was that Darren wasn’t cutting any corners.
The sound of blaring headphones interrupted me as Jayden came into the kitchen with his usual sour seven-in-the-morning face he’d decided to wear of late. The kid was fourteen going on forty as teenage angst began to set in. Not that long ago he was still happy playing with toys and enjoying life. Now, every day was a struggle.
Jayden sat down by the kitchen counter and poured himself some cereal, splashing milk half into the bowl and half onto the counter a moment later. He slurped down his food without taking his eyes off his smartphone for more than a second.
“Jayden, honey?”
He glanced up at the interruption with a scowl and waited for me to speak.
“What was our rule about music and phones during meals?”
His face twisted up. I prepared myself for the daily morning argument.
“This isn’t a meal,” he said as he removed one earbud. The white cord dangled around his black zip-up hoodie, swaying for a moment, letting out the many decibels of noise that had been destroying his eardrum. I didn’t want to get into this fight again.
“Yes, it is. Now turn that music off and put your phone face down on the counter.”
“This is such bullshit,” he muttered as he slapped the device down and pulled out the second headphone.
“Language, Jayden.”
“Whatever,” he said before continuing to eat. He didn’t bother to turn the song off. I could now hear with clarity some heavy metal racket laced with cuss words. I decided not to start on him about his choice in music. One battle at a time was about all I could face.
“Did you finish your homework last night?” I asked. My simple question was about to commence another thread in our ongoing war. When he didn’t answer, I moved farther into his field of view with both arms crossed. “Well?”
Jayden’s phone buzzed and moved slightly on the kitchen counter. He snatched it up to read the notification. “That’s Ben. I gotta go.” He leaped from the stool, leaving behind his half-finished meal and mess.
“Jayden.” I used what little command my voice carried. “Show me your homework.”
He span back to me as he grabbed his backpack. “I gotta go, Mom. Ben’s dad is waiting for me.”
There was a time when he had been happy for me to drop him off at school, right to the front door. Now, I couldn’t take Jayden there without embarrassing him, even if I let him off half a mile away. There’s nothing that could make a mom feel any lower than her own child rejecting her.
A honk of a car horn confirmed Jayden’s ride had arrived. I couldn’t stop him from leaving without upsetting Ben’s dad. Knowing what that man was like gave me my answer.
“We’ll talk about this when you get home.”
“I won’t be home tonight, remember?”
The door slammed before I got to say anything else. Another victory for me, if winning involved giving up at the drop of a hat. Darren and I were heading out for dinner while Jayden was going to stay at a friend’s house for the evening. By the time we were all home together, I would have forgotten about his homework, and he knew it.
I let out a long-winded sigh and moved back to the kitchen with a huff. I wasn’t due to start work until nine, so I spent the next hour cleaning up the mess my family left behind for me on a daily basis. I swore Jayden and Darren did it on purpose just to see if I’d continue to serve them.
Most days it didn’t bother me too much, but Darren’s distraction and Jayden’s teenage moods were starting to make the task of supportive wife and mother a cumbersome effort. Of course, that was the perfect moment for our chocolate-brown Labrador to begin barking her butt off at the back door. I yelled out to our dog, shouting her name, Bessie, while a wineglass caught my eye. I resisted the temptation to pour myself a drink while the sun was still rising. Things hadn’t reached that point just yet. I tightened my dressing gown and headed for the still yapping dog.
“What the hell is your problem today?” I yelled, unloading all the crap of the morning on Bessie. She was the final member of my family deciding to push me over the edge.
Despite my gruffness, she continued to bark at the back door. “Do you want to go out?” I asked with both hands out wide, searching for an answer to the dog’s sudden irrational behavior.
“Jesus Christ,” I said as I unlocked the thick door and let her scurry through the slightest of gaps. I decided to peek outside to see what all the fuss was about. As I predicted, nothing but our oversize backyard met my view. Darren had promised to do some landscaping when we first moved in. Now, he was far too busy with his construction company.
Bessie ran straight toward the side fence that bordered the street of our corner block. She honed in on a single location, not letting up with her loud noise. The neighbors would be thrilled.
“Bessie!” I shouted, possibly louder than the dog. She didn’t respond, forcing me to venture outside. It was another freezing, snowy morning. Usually, I didn’t brave the weather without a decent coat on, but today I had no choice. I felt every bark out of her mouth edging me ahead.
I stomped up to Bessie and saw her scratching at the fence like a wild beast. “Stop it!” I yelled.
As if noticing me for the first time, she cowered down, tail between her legs. She backed away for a moment and whimpered toward the fence. Something was really getting to her.
“There’s nothing there, Bessie. Now come inside and stop embarrassing me.” I grabbed her by the collar and led her back toward the house. She continued to stare at the fence and whined.
“Leave it. It’s just a fence,” I said, utterly confident that the animal had lost her mind.
How truly wrong I was.
The rest of my day went by as it always did: I cleaned the house in a rush, commuted to the university in easing gridlock, and settled into work with some gossip before getting on with the numerous tasks that needed completing. My job was simple on paper, but in reality, we were pulled in every possible direction the university could legally force us. Still, I enjoyed the work.
When I left not long after five, I noticed one of my colleagues crying in the parking lot. A young girl who’d only started two weeks ago one department over from me, also named Emma, was leaning against her car. Seeing the poor girl reminded me that I would occasionally have to work with another Emma. I groaned at the thought, not needing the extra confusion.
I thought about leaving, not wanting to become involved, but my parenting instinct kicked in, not allowing me to escape.
“Emma?” I said quietly as I approached, making sure not to startle her.
The twenty-something blonde tried to turn away briefly to cover up her tears. She spun back to me with a forced smile. “Yes?”
“Is everything okay?”
She sniffed. “Everything is fine, sorry. Don’t worry about me.”
“But you’re crying. Has something happened?”
Emma shook her head at me. “Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll be okay. I just…”
I took a quick look at my watch as subtly as I could. I needed to move on if I was going to make it home in time for dinner with Darren. We had reservations for a five-star Italian restaurant. Jayden was going to visit a friend and we’d pick him up later. I couldn’t miss this meal. We hadn’t spent a night alone together in months, maybe longer. We needed this time together.
Emma continued. “It’s nothing. Just boyfriend troubles.”
I stared past the words coming out of her mouth and could tell she was lying. Having a teenager gave me the uncanny ability, even though I barely knew Emma. Still, I didn’t have time to delve deeper, so I used her lie as my out.
“Right, well, you tell him not to mess you around. I’m really sorry, but I need to go.” I thumbed toward my car.
Emma’s eyes went wide. “Oh, of course. Don’t worry about me. I just need a few seconds to work this out, and I’ll be fine. Please go.”
“Thank you,” I muttered as a lump of guilt sat in my throat. After my unceremonious morning with my family, I had almost run out of care and needed something to go my way for a change. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I added as I backed away without grace. I’m sure karma would see me pay for that.
Emma’s sniffing continued for a moment as I left. I put her problems out of my head and hurried toward my car before I changed my mind. Any other day I would be willing to hear it, but not tonight. I had finally managed to lock Darren down for a meal in town. I tried to remember how long it had been since we’d done such a thing. Our marriage needed it. Things hadn’t been great.
After I reached my car, the usual blurry trip home flashed by as I drove on autopilot, listening to some drive-home station. The general mix of songs I used to enjoy blended seamlessly with depressing news and traffic reports. I almost turned the noise off before making it home. For some reason, I couldn’t stand it anymore. It had all become too much of a routine.
When I arrived home a touch after six, I saw the driveway was devoid of Darren’s work truck. “Of course,” I said out loud. I resisted the urge to curse. Instead, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. It was only ten past the hour, so I couldn’t lose my cool just yet.
Another twenty minutes disappeared as I adjusted my makeup and changed outfits inside, desperate for my husband to hurry the hell up and come home. Our seven o’clock reservation loomed. The grandfather clock in the hallway outside our bedroom ticked loudly, reminding me that soon I would have no choice but to reach for my phone and blast Darren the second he answered my call—if he an. . .
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