I’m Sorry

Originally sent to subscribers in May, 2023. Sign up for the newsletter now to receive exclusive stories months in advance.

“I fucked up.” The road ahead is slick, wet from the storm that passed through earlier. “I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up.” I repeat the phrase aloud to myself over and over again.

No music is playing. The only sound is that of my own voice and panted breathing.

The mirror is turned away. I can’t stand to look at myself.

“I should have never gone over there!”

I have to jerk the car back onto the road after my scream sends me into the gravel, mere inches from the metal railing. My heart is racing too fast. I’m not thinking straight. Really, I haven’t been thinking straight all night.

Tears start to stream from my eyes as the last few hours flash through my mind.

She called me after dinner. I had just laid Ethan down in his crib and was setting up the couch to stream a show with Ellie before her bedtime. Lyla was in the other room, getting ready for a long day of work at the detention center tomorrow. The phone rang. I glanced down at it and turned the volume up on the TV to drown out my voice.

“Hello?” I half-whispered.

“Hey, there,” she said, her sultry voice oozing with the promise of an unforgettable night.

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked, trying to sound as normal as possible. “I’m with my family.”

“Why don’t you come over here and show me that good time you mentioned?”

Click.

I remember sighing, lying to myself by pretending that I was thinking about it. I wasn’t. I didn’t need to. I had already made up my mind.

Lyla only nodded when I told her I had to go into work to take an overseas call from a potential investor. I could tell she had to force herself to be understanding, to play the considerate wife in front of the kids. Deep down, she was hurting and upset.

But I didn’t care about that.

I wanted something I hadn’t had in a long, long time. I wanted adventure, excitement, something new. It didn’t matter how tired Lyla was, or how much she craved for the same things, or how badly she wanted me to give her those things. I only cared about my own pleasure, regardless of who was giving it to me.

Anthea was incredible. She treated me like a king, catering to my every need and desire. She gave me what I longed for so strongly. She made me feel like the most special person in the world.

It was an unforgettable night.

Now all I want to do is forget it ever happened.

“I fucked up,” I wail again.

The clock reads 11:43. I’ve already been gone over four hours. My phone shows seven unread messages. I swipe it unlocked and glance at the messages. The top one is from an unknown number. I tap on it. An image of Anthea fills my screen. I wince and delete the conversation as quickly as my shaking fingers will move. I wish I could erase her from my mind as easily as I can from my phone.

The other six messages are from Lyla, asking where I am. Her frustration is obvious by the final one, sent at 11:27. “Are you planning on coming home tonight?? Or should I plan on getting the kids up in the morning… again??”

“I’m so sorry!” My scream shreds my throat. My eyes are blurry from the tears and the wine.

When did it start raining again? I didn’t even notice. Reaching for the wipers, I accidentally flip the turn signal on instead. “Shit.” I flash my lights a couple of times. I can’t think straight.

At last, I get everything situated and focus on the road ahead.

It’s covered in water.

I slam on the brakes, but it’s no use. The truck skates across the top of the water like it’s ice. I step on the gas and yank the wheel to the left, in the direction of the bend in the highway. It doesn’t help. I’m still moving toward the guard rail and, on the other side, a steep drop into the forest below. Even worse, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to drive.

All at once, my right rear wheel regains traction. It grabs hold of the pavement and sends me into a spin in the middle of the wet road. I yank the wheel the other direction, only to be met with the squeal and scent of burning rubber as the tires spin over the surface. I manage to reverse my spin, but I haven’t slowed at all. I catch a glimpse of trees below me before being wrenched away in an endless circle.

Crash! Crack!

My head explodes in pain as my neck is whipped to the side. The glass window shatters. My truck tips to the side. Through the black spots in my vision, I can see the trees getting ever taller as they rush toward upward.

…

My brain finally catches up with reality. The trees aren’t growing, I’m tipping. I throw my hands up to protect my head from further damage. The truck rolls over the top of the guardrail and down the embankment. I flip once… twice… three times.

The bed of the truck gets taken out first. It’s torn off by a particularly large oak tree. The front hits next, sending me and the cab spinning around once again. The wheels catch on a felled tree. The truck tips and rolls.

I’m upside down, looking at the world with an entirely different perspective and careening toward one of the biggest elm trees I’ve ever seen.

The most important moments of my life erupt in a sea of images in my mind. I see the births of my children, my first date, my state championship baseball game, my parents on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. The last thing I see is Lyla on our wedding day. With her hair tied up in the wrong style, her makeup running off in the heat, and her dress falling down after the mix-up at the seamstress, she was easily the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She still is.

A final tear falls from my eye as I realize I will never lay sight on her again. She’ll know what I’ve done. I’ll never get the chance to make it up to her. My final act in life will have been hurting her in a way I never thought possible. I guess my ex was right. I really am a piece of shit.

I close my eyes and brace for the impact.

“I’m sorry.”