But now?
She was my wife, yet all she cared about was standing up for her college junior. She'd even thrown a wrench at my car, putting me in real danger.
Have you forgotten, Gretchen? You're my wife!
A siren wailed from behind. A highway patrol car had pulled onto the shoulder and was gaining on us. A voice blared through the loudspeaker.
"Driver of the Ferrari ahead, cease your dangerous driving immediately and pull over!"
But Gretchen didn't slow down one bit. If anything, her voice on the phone grew even more hostile.
"This could've been settled if you'd just swallowed your pride and admitted fault. But no, you had to blow it up into this!"
"This whole mess is your doing. Just you wait!"
The GPS chimed in.
"Attention: highway tunnel ahead in five hundred meters. Road surface is wet. Please reduce speed."
All three of us barreled into the tunnel.
There was no shoulder lane inside. The patrol car had no choice but to stop at the tunnel entrance.
The overhead lights were dim, casting a sickly glow that barely illuminated a hundred meters of road ahead. The danger of driving at this speed multiplied instantly.
A voice message came through from Gretchen.
"Clarence, I'm giving you one last chance. Pull over right now and go take the blame for Cecil!"
My hands were shaking on the steering wheel. I roared back at her.
"You can't stop in a goddamn tunnel, Gretchen!"
She didn't respond. Instead, the Ferrari's engine screamed as she floored the accelerator, pulling away from me in seconds.
Before I could even process what was happening, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. Cecil, behind the wheel of his truck in the next lane, was grinning. A slow, sinister grin.
He slammed on the gas and wrenched the steering wheel to the left.
The truck's cab crossed the lane divider and invaded my lane.
The realization hit me like ice water: he was going to use the truck to pin my car.
There wasn't enough time to accelerate and escape. But if I braked, the body of his truck would sideswipe me, and if I ended up wedged underneath the trailer, I'd be dead on impact.
All I could do was watch as Cecil drove the truck's cab straight into the front of my car.
A deafening crash.
The right side of my car crumpled like a tin can. The left side was crushed against the tunnel wall. Metal shrieked against concrete as the wreckage scraped forward for dozens of meters before finally grinding to a halt.
My car sat pinned inside the highway tunnel. Other vehicles screamed past, inches away.
Inside the cabin, I gripped my head with both hands, trying to steady myself through the searing pain. My vision swam. Even with my seatbelt on, the force of the collision had thrown my skull against the interior. Something warm and wet trickled from my scalp down my cheek. White smoke poured from under the crumpled hood.
The scene was carnage.
Cecil shoved open the truck door and jumped down, staring at me with a look of pure satisfaction.
"That's what you get for slapping me, Clarence."
"Gretchen told me to do it herself, by the way. Honestly, an old man like you should just get lost already."
"Haven't you figured it out yet? She loves me now."
I couldn't summon the strength to respond. In the distance, headlights swung around. Gretchen had turned the Ferrari back.
She stepped out in her tailored pencil skirt, long legs crossing the distance to Cecil's side.
Her gaze fell on me in the driver's seat, battered and bleeding. Something flickered in her eyes, a flash of something almost like pain, and she took an involuntary step toward me.
"Clarence, are you... are you okay?"
But then Cecil called out to her, his voice warm and familiar. "Gretchen."
The softness in her eyes froze over. She looked at me, and when she spoke again, her voice was cold.
"Clarence, you brought this on yourself."
"You were the one in the wrong. You refused to admit it. This is the consequence."
