A Life Reclaimed

I was sitting on a bench outside the funeral home.

Almost absently, I liked the birthday post on social media.

Then I left a comment: "Happy birthday."

Less than a minute after I posted it, my wife, Marissa Langley, who had rejected more than thirty of my calls, suddenly called me herself.

I answered on instinct.

The first thing I heard was an accusation.

"What is that passive-aggressive comment supposed to mean? You scared a college graduate so badly he's talking about quitting. Apologize to Tyler right now, or we're getting divorced."

We had been married for seven years.

Marissa had threatened divorce more often than she had shown me affection.

It was her go-to tactic to threaten me.

And every time, I surrendered immediately.

Then I apologized like a man with no pride at all.

Little by little, I pushed my own boundaries farther back.

I had always believed that a marriage beginning when we were young was too precious to throw away.

Besides, we had a child.

The thought of my son made the "Fine" that was about to leave my mouth stall again.

Then, I heard Noah Langley's young voice through the phone.

"Mom, why are you wasting time talking to that useless idiot? Come cut Tyler's cake with us. Then let's buy him the newest gaming computer. He promised to play Dragonfall with me tonight."

"All right, sweetheart. Mommy's coming."

The call ended.

The dial tone echoed hollowly in my ear.

When I checked the post again, Marissa had blocked me from viewing her social feed entirely.

A laugh burst out of me.

Then, while I was still laughing, tears began to fall.

My mother had called me the afternoon before yesterday.

She said my father had suffered a massive brain hemorrhage.

He probably wouldn't survive the night.

I immediately opened a travel app to book a ticket.

Unfortunately, every flight and express-train seat to Meadowridge had sold out.

The only option left was a last-minute business-class airline ticket costing twelve hundred dollars.

I was about to press Purchase when Marissa snatched the phone from my hand.

She demanded an explanation as though I were the one being unreasonable.

"Do you know what twelve hundred dollars means to this family? You stay home all day living off me and never think about how hard I work for every dollar.

"You're not a doctor. Even if you get there early, if your father’s time is up, he’s going to die regardless. I don't earn money so you can drain me dry."

When she finished, she took my phone and my driver's license.

She snapped my credit card in half.

Only after making sure I had no practical way to pay for the ticket did she leave in a good mood.

She didn't come home that night.

The next morning, she finally sent her secretary to return my phone along with the cheapest and slowest bus ticket back to my hometown.

The dead phone showed more than a thousand missed-call alerts from my mother.

She had called almost every minute.