I came home exhausted, ready to collapse, but laughter from the garage hit me like a slap. That deep, carefree kind of laughter that didn’t belong in a house drowning in unpaid bills and responsibilities. My stomach twisted, and my fingers clenched around my keys.
I already knew what I’d find before I even pushed the door open, but I walked toward it anyway, my feet heavy with exhaustion.
The garage smelled of motor oil, sweat, and stale beer. And there they were—my husband, Mark, and his deadbeat best friend, Greg. Grease-stained hands, sweaty shirts clinging to their backs, bottles of beer sweating on the workbench. And, of course, the same damn car they had been “fixing” for weeks.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.
Mark barely glanced up from under the hood of the car. “Hey, babe. How was work?”
I felt something hot and sharp inside me snap. How was work?
I ignored his question. “Again? You’re still messing with this thing?”
Greg, leaning lazily against the car, grinned. That lopsided, cocky smirk that always made my blood boil. “Takes time to do it right,” he said, taking a slow sip from his beer.
“Oh yeah?” My voice sharpened. “Maybe Mark should try spending time looking for a job instead.”
That got his attention. Mark straightened up, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, as if that somehow made him look like a man who worked for a living. “I’m trying, okay? It’s not that easy.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “No, I guess sitting in here drinking with Greg is easier, huh?”
Greg chuckled, shaking his head. “Hey, maybe you could just work two jobs till he finds something. You’re already good at carrying the load.”
I turned to Mark, waiting for him to say something, to tell his idiot friend to shut up. To at least pretend to have my back. But he just… shrugged.
“It’s not a bad idea,” he said.
Something inside me shattered. I felt it break, clean and cold.
“Fine,” I said, my voice like ice. “I’ll find another job.”
And I did.
One week later, exhaustion had settled so deep in my bones that even my thoughts felt heavy. The auto wash had drained me—hot water, strong chemicals, endless scrubbing that left my fingers raw and my back screaming. Even my days off weren’t mine anymore.
I pushed the door open, praying for just a little relief. But the moment I stepped inside, I knew better.
The place was a disaster. The sink overflowed with dishes, cloudy water sitting at the bottom. The couch was buried under laundry—crumpled shirts, mismatched socks, wrinkled jeans. Dust clung to every surface like neglect itself.
And there, in the middle of it all, stood Mark. Arms crossed. Face twisted in a frown.
“No dinner?” he asked.
I blinked. I had to actually take a second to process his words.
Then I laughed. Short. Sharp. Cold. “You think I have time to work two jobs and keep this place spotless?”
He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, like I was the one being unreasonable.
“That’s a woman’s job.”
I felt my fingers twitch. Not a fist. Not yet. But something inside me burned.
I let my bag slip off my shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud. “Then do it,” I said flatly. “Because I’m done.”
His frown deepened. “I have plans. Greg and I—”
“Of course you do.” I cut him off, shaking my head. “You always do.”
The weight of my words hung between us. He shifted his feet, glancing away like a kid caught doing something wrong.
I stepped closer. “Promise me—if you get a job offer, you’ll take it.”
He hesitated. Just a second. But I saw it.
His jaw tightened. “Fine. I promise.”
I stared at him for a long moment, searching for something—guilt, regret, sincerity. But I didn’t see it. And I didn’t know if I believed him.
Late that night, I collapsed onto the couch, my whole body feeling like dead weight. My feet ached, my hands still smelled like soap and car wax, and my eyelids drooped like they were made of stone.
Then I heard footsteps. Mark.
I didn’t even bother looking up. “If you’re about to ask about dinner, I swear—”
“They called me,” he said, cutting me off.
His tone was different. Something off about it. I cracked one eye open, rubbing my temples. “Who?”
“The job.” He stepped closer, standing in front of me now. “They want me to come in tomorrow. Mechanic job.”
I sat up a little, blinking away my exhaustion. “Wait—really?”
Mark crossed his arms, and that’s when I saw it—the look on his face. Smug. Almost proud, like he had just proved some big point.
“Yeah,” he said. “Greg and I are going in together. See? You doubted me.”
I stared at him, my brain trying to process everything. I should have been relieved. Happy, even. This was what I had wanted, wasn’t it?
But that last part—you doubted me—hit me the wrong way.
I sat up fully, shaking my head. “Mark, I never doubted you,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I just wanted you to stop doubting yourself.”
Something flickered across his face, just for a second, but then he smirked, like he had won some argument I wasn’t even trying to have.
I pressed my lips together and nodded slowly. “Well,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. “I hope it works out.”
Then I leaned back against the couch, closed my eyes, and let the silence sit between us.
The smell of gasoline and burnt rubber clung to the thick evening air. The buzzing fluorescent lights above the garage cast a cold glow over the pavement.
I stepped outside, scanning the group of new hires gathered near the entrance. Then I saw them.
Mark. And Greg.
Mark’s face went pale the second our eyes met, like he’d just walked into a trap he never saw coming. Greg, on the other hand, took a second longer, his brows knitting together before his mouth parted slightly. Then he let out a low whistle.
“You’re the new boss?” Mark’s voice barely made it past his throat.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Looks like it.”
Mark swallowed hard. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. He wasn’t stupid. He understood.
Greg scratched his chin, confusion all over his face. “Wait… you work here?” He blinked twice before realization hit. “Oh. Oh.”
Mark exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn.”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting.
His shoulders slumped slightly. His voice was quieter. “I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I?”
I tilted my head. “You said it, not me.”
He let out a short, breathy laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just something tired. Defeated.
“I didn’t see it,” he muttered. “Everything you’ve done. I didn’t see how strong you were. How much I took you for granted.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then, finally, he met my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I let the words sit between us. Then I sighed, shaking my head. “Let’s see if you mean it.”
And with that, I turned and walked back inside.
