They Left Me For Dead

The sky wept sheets of rain on the day my husband decided to play God. He was at the port with Sophia, my petulant stepsister, who had thrown another one of her signature tantrums and run away from home. He, of course, had dutifully followed to coax her back.

Standing amidst the storm-lashed shipping containers, Sophia pointed a dramatic finger at a stacked row. A wild idea sparked in her eyes.

“Ethan, I dare you,” she said, her voice a childish challenge against the wind. “Like in the movies. Bet you can’t make the car fly over them.”

A reckless grin spread across Ethan’s face. Instead of talking sense into her, he floored the accelerator, aiming his BMW for a makeshift ramp of wooden pallets.

The tires screeched, lost traction on the rain-slicked wood, and the car slammed sideways into a towering stack of containers that was already groaning under the assault of the wind.

The metal giant swayed, then fell.

Ethan ignored the small car crushed beneath it. His first and only instinct was to cup Sophia’s face in his hands, his voice a low murmur meant only for her.

“Are you scared? God, this weather… It’s okay, Soph. You’re safe.”

Only when the car was flattened into a tin pancake, dark liquid seeping out to mix with the rain, did Ethan finally pull out his phone.

“Yeah, 911? My wife, Olivia… I think she’s been in an accident.”

My brother, Noah, and I had just grabbed lattes when we saw the flashing lights drawing a crowd at the port.

Through the downpour, we could see firefighters working frantically, prying at the window of a crushed car. “Ma’am! Can you hear me? Ma’am, wake up!”

Who was that, flattened in the driver’s seat, blood streaming from her face?

1

I grabbed my brother’s wrist and pulled him back, melting into the chaos of the crowd. The scene was a nightmare of twisted metal and flashing lights. The rain washed the blood away almost as soon as it pooled, turning the mud at our feet a sickening shade of pink.

Huddled behind a few dockworkers, I listened to their hushed, angry conversation.

“Damn shame. If that guy had called for help sooner, she might’ve had a chance.”

“You’re telling me. When the container first fell, the car wasn’t totally crushed. But he just stood there, holding that other girl, comforting her. Wasted a good fifteen minutes.”

“And her! What a piece of work. Crying about how scared she was. Does she think the Port of Baltimore is her personal playground? Driving around like a maniac.”

An arctic chill shot up my spine. Ethan. My husband. He had treated a human life as a prop in his little drama of comforting another woman.

Just then, Ethan emerged from behind the police tape, his arm wrapped protectively around a still-trembling Sophia. He spotted my mother in the crowd, and his face went pale. He quickly pulled her aside.

“Diane! What are you doing here? It’s not safe!”

My mom had just gotten his call. She was crying so hard she could barely stand, her fingers digging into his arm.

“Ethan! Where is Liv? What happened to my Olivia?!”

A flicker of panic crossed Ethan’s eyes, instantly masked by a practiced, somber expression. “Diane, you need to stay calm. It all happened so fast. The containers… I couldn’t get to her in time.”

He then added, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, “And Sophia was in shock. I had to take care of her first. You understand, right?”

The sheer audacity of his twisted logic made my mother tremble with rage.

“Understand? Your wife is under that wreckage, and you thought comforting your stepsister was the priority? Ethan, have you lost your soul?”

His jaw tightened, a flash of indignation in his eyes as if he were the one being wronged.

“It was Olivia who was being unstable! She’s the one who drove out to the middle of nowhere and parked in a hazardous zone. Sophia was just worried about her! That’s the only reason I followed them out here!”

My nails dug into my palms. Lies. All of it. He was here to entertain Sophia.

Sophia lifted her tear-stained face from Ethan’s shoulder, her voice a fragile whisper. “Diane, it’s all my fault… I shouldn’t have run away. Then Liv wouldn’t have gotten so jealous and done something so reckless…”

She paused, letting the poison sink in. “I’m leaving for my program in Paris soon. Please… don’t blame Ethan anymore, okay?”

Her words, cloaked in guilt, were daggers, each one painting me as a jealous, unhinged wife who had brought this on herself.

Ethan seized the narrative she’d spun for him, his expression shifting to one of profound sorrow. “Diane, what’s done is done. Making a scene won’t do anyone’s reputation any good.”

His voice dropped. “I’ll handle Liv’s arrangements. It will be beautiful. It’s the last thing I can do for her.”

Nausea churned in my stomach. To protect Sophia, he had already convicted me, sentenced me, and was now planning my funeral. This man wasn't just flawed; he was rotten to the core, lost in a pathetic fantasy of his own noble suffering and his bottomless devotion to her.

My mother raised her hand and slapped him. The sound was a sharp crack that cut through the drone of the rain.

Ethan clutched his cheek, stunned.

Sophia shrieked, jumping in front of him like a loyal guard dog. “Diane! How could you hit him? He’s a victim in this, too!”

Ignoring her, my mother pointed a trembling finger at Ethan’s face. “That,” she said, her voice dangerously low, “was for my daughter. For your rotten, ungrateful heart.”

A police officer, drawn by the commotion, walked over. “What’s going on here? Ma’am, please, you need to remain calm. Let us do our work.”

My mother turned to him, her voice raw but steady. “Officer, I’m the… victim’s mother. My daughter would never have parked her car in a dangerous area for no reason. I want to see all the security footage from this port.”

I needed to know exactly what they had “done” to me.

“Ma’am, I’ve already given the police my statement,” Ethan interjected, his face a mask of fury. “Are you trying to make this even harder for Olivia? Don’t you think she deserves to rest in peace?!”

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