She Didn’t Know What She Lost

On the Memorial Day weekend, Mason Hayes, the student my wife, Abigail Sullivan, had been sponsoring, insisted on riding with me back to his hometown.

My car was small, the drive was long, and the trunk was already packed. There was no way to fit another adult, so I turned him down as politely as I could.

That night, Abigail came home and stayed quiet for a long time before finally saying, "He ended up walking along the highway. His feet were torn up."

I frowned, trying to make sense of it. "It's a holiday weekend. There are Ubers everywhere. He could've booked one in minutes."

She nodded softly, the same gentle expression she always wore, and poured me a glass of water.

I drank it.

The next thing I knew, everything went black.

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing under a brutal midday sun on an empty stretch of highway. Abigail leaned into Mason's shoulder, holding her phone up as she livestreamed. There was a faint smile on her lips, but there was nothing warm about it.

"You said getting around was easy, right? Why don't you try walking home yourself?"

The livestream was packed. The chat flooded with messages, people placing bets on how far I would make it.

I looked straight into the camera, ran my tongue over my cracked lips, and said, "Done enjoying the show? Now come and pick me up."

###CONTENT

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Heat shimmered off the asphalt.

In the back seat of a Rolls-Royce, Abigail Sullivan and Mason Hayes were laughing so hard that they could barely sit upright.

Abigail kept the camera trained on me while the livestream chat scrolled so fast it blurred.

"Look at him," she said, her tone almost playful. "Still stubborn as ever. He really thinks someone's coming to get him."

Mason leaned out the window, putting on a concerned expression.

"Maybe we should just let Carter in. It's way too hot out here. If he keeps walking, something could actually happen."

"Relax." Abigail tightened her arm around his waist, then turned toward me, her expression hardening.

"Carter, you have two choices. Either apologize to Mason, or walk all 50 miles.

"The highway runs straight. You won't get lost."

The chat exploded.

[Serves him right. Bet he didn't see this coming when he turned Mason down.]

[He thinks money makes him untouchable? That's pathetic.]

[About time someone knocked him down a peg. Go, Ms. Sullivan!]

[Look at him now. Not so impressive anymore.]

[Fifty miles? A guy like that won't even make three.]

I stood there under the sun, sweat soaking through my clothes, my lips split and dry.

Mason looked at me, his expression tightening with what appeared to be genuine concern. He touched Abigail's arm and lowered his voice.

"Abby, forget it. I grew up with nothing. I'm not like Carter. A few miles on foot isn't the end of the world for someone like me.

"I'm sure he had his reasons for not giving me a ride. No need to make things harder on him because of me."

As he spoke, his gaze flicked toward me for just a second, a trace of smugness slipping through.

My head buzzed.

Before the holiday weekend, Mason had asked if he could ride with me back to his hometown.

My car had been packed to the brim. There was no space.

I politely told him that it would be easy to get an Uber. Feeling bad that I couldn't help, I even sent him money to pay for the trip.

And now, somehow, I was the bad guy looking down on him and refusing to give him a ride.

Abigail's voice turned cold. She tightened her grip on Mason's arm and glared at me.

"You're too nice, Mason. That's why people keep taking advantage of you. When he started using the fact that he's my husband to make your life difficult, he should've known there'd be consequences."

I looked at her.

This was the woman I had loved for six years.

To marry her, I walked away from the Blackwing Division I built with my own hands.

At the time, I thought it was worth it.

The first year of our marriage had been good. In the second year, she started sponsoring Mason.

By the third, after Mason graduated from college, Abigail hired him as her assistant. I didn't think much of it. She had supported him, and it seemed only natural that he would want to repay her by working for the company.

Then, little by little, things began to change.

Once, during a company basketball game, he deliberately slid under me while I was coming down from a rebound. I landed awkwardly and rolled my ankle. The pain was so sharp that I shoved him without thinking.

He went down immediately, scraping his elbow on the court.

In front of hundreds of employees, Abigail berated me for being reckless and overreacting.

When we got home that night, she barely spoke to me.

Then she didn't speak to me at all for the next three days.

After that, incidents like that became more frequent.

At a project meeting, Mason presented my proposal as if it were his own. When I called him out, he lowered his head and stood there, looking wronged.

Abigail said I was petty and couldn't stand seeing someone else succeed.

When Mason stayed late at the office, she accused me of dumping all the work on him and said I was working him to the bone.

When his birthday came around, I sent him money as a gift. She said I was being thoughtless and couldn't even show basic sincerity to someone who worked for me.

One time, he deliberately spilled coffee on a contract I had just signed. I snapped at him, and he stood there in silence.

Without even asking what happened, Abigail immediately assumed I was the problem, picking on an honest, hardworking employee.

At first, I thought maybe I wasn't doing enough. I started watching everything I said and did. But no matter how careful I was, she always found something wrong.

And now, standing on a highway hot enough to melt rubber, watching my wife lean against Mason's shoulder while livestreaming my humiliation, I finally understood.

The problem wasn't that I hadn't done enough.

The problem was that I was in the way.

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