Thickening fog rolls in as we turn off the highway and head down the twisty rural road, our shortcut home. Michael presses hard on the gas, anxious to close the final distance. I sigh and squeeze his hand, imagining what might still lie ahead for us tonight once we snuggle into our cozy bed together.
“Happy Anniversary,” he says without looking my way. “It was quite a night.”
“It was lovely,” I respond. “But can you slow down?”
“Marrying you was the best day of my life. I had so many dreams for our future.” He continues to urge the pedal down as the narrow country lane unfolds in the near pitch dark.
Voice quavering, I ask again. “Can you slow down, Michael? We can hardly see the road.”
Vibrations swell through the cabin as he chooses to accelerate instead. A sharp curve looms ahead. His eyes are wet as he grabs my wrist.
“I saw you watching him tonight, you know.” He takes a beat, waiting for his words to sink in. “You think I don’t know every thought in your head?”
I tear my eyes away from the trees ticking by the windshield in a furious rush. “What? No! Don’t you know I love you? Only you!”
We barely mange the swerve in the road, and he says nothing more as we careen onto the ramp of the derelict backwoods bridge. I flash on the icy river raging below, when in a barely audible whisper he asks, “Are you ready?”
Suzanne Miller, a working-class kid, is recently retired from practicing child protection law. She now plays badminton with her grands, travels a bit, and also finds time to write flash fiction and essays in her sleepy Connecticut shoreline town. Suzanne has had pieces accepted by The Rumen, Tangled Locks, WildGreens, and CafeLit among others. She is also a Writer Advice’s 2024 Microfiction Contest winner. You can find her at “Flash Light” on Substack.
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