Emily Johnson stared at the round clock on the classroom wall, watching the second hand sweep away the final moments of her shift. She let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to rattle in her chest. Lately, this small, somewhat cluttered room at the children’s arts school had become her sanctuary, a refuge from the storm that waited for her at home. Even the unruly students—the ones who hadn’t practiced their scales and spent the hour fooling around on the piano bench—brought her more peace than her own husband and his mother.
Desperate to delay her departure, Emily busied herself with tasks that didn’t really need doing. She decided to reorganize the paperwork, shuffling through student files and attendance sheets. She had been a piano teacher here for over five years, and she took pride in her meticulous nature.
Whether it was teaching a difficult sonata or filing documentation, Emily kept everything in perfect order. She had always loved her job, but recently, it had become the only thing keeping her sane.
The sharp ring of her cell phone shattered the quiet, startling her. She glanced at the screen and involuntarily winced. It was James.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves before answering. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” James asked instantly. There was no greeting, just a tone dripping with displeasure.
“At work,” Emily replied, forcing her voice to remain calm. Inside, she wanted to scream, to let out the hopelessness that had been consuming her for over six months.
“Why are you still at work?” James raised his voice, the volume spiking in her ear. “You were supposed to be at the store by now to buy groceries. I’m sitting here hungry, you know. I made a whole pot of chili this morning.”
“I’m tired, James,” Emily sighed, rubbing her temple. She knew perfectly well the chili was long gone; he had likely finished it hours ago.
“Are you kidding me?” James sounded furious now. “Tired?”
Emily closed her eyes. She knew exactly what this meant. She was about to spend her entire evening listening to a lecture on what an ungrateful wife she was. After all, according to the narrative that ruled their lives, it was entirely her fault that her husband had ended up in a wheelchair.
Her mind drifted back six months, to the day her life had derailed.
It was the dead of winter, and the cold had been biting—the kind of freeze that settles deep in your bones. She had called James from work.
“James, please,” she had pleaded softly into the phone. “I stopped by the store before work and bought two heavy bags of groceries. Plus, it’s freezing outside.”
“And what do you want from me?” James had asked, his voice thick with annoyance.
“Pick me up,” Emily requested. She could have called a cab, of course, but she had wanted her husband to show a little care, a little chivalry.
“Seriously?” James was indignant. “You’re suggesting I drive out in this cold just because you didn’t think ahead? Fine. I bought us some treats for dinner anyway.”
Pleased with herself for standing her ground, she replied, “Please.”
“Fine,” James muttered through gritted teeth. “I’ll come.”
After her shift, Emily waited at the school’s entrance, shivering as the wind whipped around her. Ten minutes passed. Then thirty. He didn’t show. She called his cell repeatedly, but it eventually went straight to voicemail, signaling it was out of service.
Defeated, she had to hail a cab home. The struggle didn’t end at the curb; she had to lug the heavy grocery bags up to the seventh floor because the elevator was, as usual, broken. Cursing herself for bothering him, Emily finally entered the apartment, terrified that James hadn’t come because he was angry and was now ignoring her to teach her a lesson.
But the apartment was silent and dark.
“James, are you home?” she called out, dropping the bags. No answer.
She checked the rooms, hoping he was asleep, but James was nowhere to be found. “Strange,” she whispered to herself. This wasn’t like him. She tried his number again—still out of service. Reluctantly, with a knot of dread forming in her stomach, she called her mother-in-law, Susan Miller.
Their relationship had always been strained. From the moment they met, Susan had made it clear she disliked Emily. Susan had wanted her son to marry his ex-girlfriend, Lauren—a smart, beautiful, and highly sought-after hairdresser. But James had chosen a “plain piano teacher,” a decision that infuriated his mother to no end.
Sighing, Emily dialed Susan’s number. “Hello, Susan, it’s me,” she said.
“Well, look who’s calling,” Susan hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “How dare people like you even exist?”
“What’s wrong?” Emily was taken aback. She knew Susan didn’t like her, but this level of aggression was new.
“You have the nerve to ask what’s going on?” Susan seemed to be choking on her anger.
“I don’t understand,” Emily said, sinking onto the edge of the couch. She sensed something terrible had happened.
“My son got into an accident because of you!” Susan shouted, her rage boundless.
“An accident?” Emily felt like she’d been physically struck with a heavy object. Her head began to buzz. “What’s wrong with James?”
“It’s bad!” Susan screamed. “James will be disabled forever. And it’s all your fault.”
“Where is my husband?” Emily asked quietly, her voice trembling.
“In the hospital.”
Without thinking, Emily rushed to the hospital. After speaking with the grave-faced doctors, she learned the reality of the situation: James had a spinal injury. He needed expensive rehabilitation, or he might remain wheelchair-bound forever. The doctors noted that James, relatively speaking, got off lightly. The other driver wasn’t so lucky; he was in intensive care, and it was unclear if he would even survive.
Initially, Emily took on the burden of care completely. She took a leave of absence from the arts school and tended to James, fulfilling his every whim out of guilt and love. But gradually, he began to push her too far. If Emily refused even the smallest request, James quickly reminded her whose fault it was that he was on that road in the first place.
“If you’d used your head, I’d be healthy now,” he would reproach her. “So, if I say I want Peking duck, you’d better make it.”
“We don’t have extra money,” Emily reminded him repeatedly, trying to be the voice of reason. “Our savings are gone, so I need to go back to work.”
“And who’ll take care of me?” James raised an eyebrow, challenging her.
“James, I can’t do everything—care for you and earn money,” she countered gently, fearing she might provoke another outburst.
“I’ve got an idea,” James said, squinting as a plan formed.
“What?” Emily asked, intrigued.
“We should move in with Mom.” James looked proud of his solution. “While you’re working, Mom can help me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Emily said doubtfully. She knew her peaceful life would end the moment she stepped across Susan’s threshold.
“You should’ve thought before asking me to pick you up in that cold,” James snapped, playing his trump card again. “So, moving is settled.”
“What about my apartment?” Emily sighed heavily.
“We’ll rent it out,” James shrugged. “Extra cash won’t hurt. Honestly, we should sell it and use the money for my rehab.”
“But you’re against it?” he added mockingly when he saw her face.
“It’s a memory of Grandma, and you don’t care about me?”
“I do care, but I’m not selling,” Emily said firmly. For her, preserving what her grandmother had left her—the apartment—was vital. It was her only link to the past.
“So, we’re moving to Mom’s,” James slammed his hand on the table to end the discussion.