Skip to main content

A Fighting Chance--A Short Story

                                               A Fighting Chance
    Sarah sighed.  “I don’t even know where he is right now,” she said, a tear grazing her cell phone as it found its way down her flushed cheek. 
    Her sister, Olivia, listened on the other end of the line.  “How can you not know where your husband is?”  She heard nothing but restrained sobs.  “I’m sorry, honey.  I didn’t mean it like that.”
    “No, you’re right,” Sarah replied.  “I guess it’s no secret that we haven’t exactly had the best marriage the last couple of years.”
    “Everybody hits a rough patch...”
    “No, this was different.  We’ve been fighting like crazy for the last six months.  We can’t even stand to be in the same room together without ripping each other apart.”
    She paused for a moment, working up the courage to admit the stark reality to herself.
    “I think my marriage is over.”
    “It’s not over until you give up, babe,” Olivia said.  “If you’re both willing to fight for each other, you’ll get through this.”
    “That’s just it,” Sarah said.  “I think we’re finally there.  Last night we started arguing about Jordan’s soccer game—I know, silly, right?—and then things just went downhill from there.  I told him he should just leave me if he hated being with his family that much.”
    “Sarah!  What’s wrong with you!?”
    “I know, I know.   It was just a bluff, really.  I was trying to prove a point.  I guess I was testing him…but that’s just it—he actually left.”  Tears began to drown her cheeks as restraint was all but abandoned.
    “Maybe he just needed some time…to think…to figure things out,” Olivia said, attempting to extend some remnant of hope.
    “How cliché!”
    “Yeah…but it’s true.  I’m sure he’s been stressed at work, and family stuff can just be too much sometimes.  Just let him blow off some steam.”
    “But why hasn’t he called?”
    “He will.  He just needs to figure out what to say.”
    “I hope you’re right.  I just…oh, hold on a second, someone’s calling me…”
    She switched over to the incoming call.
    “Hello?”
    “Is Sarah Barclay available?”
    “This is she.  Who is this?”
    “My name is Lt. Steve McCray with the Canton Police Department.  Ma’am, I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”
   “Thanks for doing this with me,” Sarah said.  They were driving to the impound where she was going to clean out John’s car.  “Thanks for being there this whole week.”
    “Oh, honey.  That’s what I’m here for…and I know you’d do the same for me.  How are you holding up?”
    “I guess I’m still in shock,” Sarah said, her eyes firmly locked on anything off in the distance.
    “That’s what happens, they say.”
    “I can’t imagine what it will be like when it really settles in.”
    “You’ll get through it.  You have to grieve properly.”
    “That’s what ‘everybody’ tells me,” Sarah said, painfully sarcastic.
    “Well, ‘they’re’ all right.”
    “But I don’t know how I can ever really do that…not the way this happened.  I’ll never really get closure.  I’ll never really be able to forgive myself,” she said, her sarcasm turning into despair. 
    “This wasn’t your fault.  You hear me—this was nobody’s fault.  It was an accident!” 
    “You can say that—even I can say that—but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to believe it.”
    They pulled up to the gate and stopped.  “Listen.  You have to find a way to deal with this or it will eat you alive.”
    Sarah smiled through the tears.  “I know…I hope I can.”
    “Now, are you okay to do this?” Olivia asked.
    “I’ll be fine.”
    An officer led the somber sisters to an unrecognizable ’05 Impala.  Sarah could hardly bear to look at the twisted wreckage.  “Maybe I won’t be fine,” she said.
    “We can do this later,” Olivia said.
    “No,” she said, collecting herself and drying her eyes.  “We’re here now.  Let’s just get it done.” 
    They opened the rear passenger door—the only one that would open freely—and starting rummaging through the junk in John’s car.
    “What is all over the inside of this car?” Sarah asked.
    “I think those are…I think those might be flower petals.”
    Sarah fell back against the car, weak and distraught.  Was he cheating?
    Olivia continued to rummage through the mess.  She paused.  She gasped.  She began to whimper.
   “What is it?!” Sarah asked.
    She held a small card in her hands.  Sarah pulled it from her trembling hands.  It read:

Sarah, I’m ready to fight for us.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Real Presence & Paedocommunion: A Deeper Rift Between Reformed Churches

You're going back to Rome! Theological disagreements within the Reformed world, especially those of the last half century, often devolve into these sorts of accusations.  As controversialists like Doug Wilson and Peter Leithart began to break away from the larger conservative Presbyterian and Reformed denominations, it became clear that the rift was deeper than semantics and systematic minutiae.  Much like the Reformation four centuries before, the Table was a primary point of conflict.   What does it mean?  Who may partake?  What do we call it?    These questions, along with a few more, divided Reformed brethren as the physical elements of our religion reflected deeper conflicts.  Good men began to understand that the problem wasn't just in our logos, but in our pathos and ethos, as well. Paedocommunion (hereafter PC) has been one of the hottest points of contention.  PC has always been normal to me as I grew up with it.  I underst...

Some Thoughts on the 2024 Election

So, we had an election earlier this week.  Perhaps you heard about it. I have done my best to remain mostly silent on political issues this time around because I have found that fixating on such matters does little for my mental or spiritual health.  Also, no one cares what I think.  Nevertheless, here are a few thoughts on our recent election. 1) I didn't vote for Donald Trump, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not glad he won.  To be clear, that says more about Kamala Harris than about Donald Trump. 2) This election seemed much cleaner--much less suspicious--than the sordid affair we had in 2020.  This election didn't feature any poll workers tallying (discovering? conjuring?) votes behind closed doors in the wee hours of the night, messy mail-in voting, or voter turnout beyond plausible expectations.  The 2020 election had me convinced that we would never see another peaceful, uncontested election, but, as contentious as things were this year, it seems like...

Haiku for Bethany

Such a pretty girl The fairest, the loveliest Lovelier each day Kind, caring, friendly Generous, sacrificial Gentle, powerful Her love and her touch Sparks igniting in my chest Souls entwined, yet freed   Golden hair, brown eyes That bright smile that captured My gaze and my heart