The chime of the final bell was a sound Olivia Peterson usually welcomed, but tonight, as the last of the fluorescent lights in the hallway hummed into the evening silence, she felt a familiar weariness settle deep in her bones. She glanced at the clock on the wall of her small piano studio, a resigned sigh escaping her lips. For months, this room, with its polished Steinway and stacks of sheet music, had become less of a job and more of a sanctuary from the storm brewing within her own home. Even the most distracted students, the ones who fumbled through their scales and fidgeted on the piano bench, brought her a quiet joy that felt worlds away from the oppressive presence of her husband and his mother. To prolong her stay, Olivia sought out any task that could keep her hands and mind occupied.
Tonight’s project was organizing a year’s worth of administrative paperwork. For over five years, Olivia had been a dedicated piano instructor at the Community Arts Academy, and she approached her responsibilities with a quiet, meticulous pride. Whether it was guiding a child’s fingers over the keys to find a melody or ensuring every student file was perfectly in order, she found comfort in precision and control. Her love for her work had always been a constant, but recently, it had intensified into a desperate need.
Her methodical sorting was interrupted by the sharp buzz of her phone. A quick glance at the screen made her flinch, a knot tightening in her stomach. It was Mark. Steeling herself, she answered.
«Where are you?» His voice was flat and laced with irritation, devoid of any greeting.
«I’m at work,» Olivia replied, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. The truth was, she wanted to scream, to unleash the torrent of hopelessness that had been eroding her spirit for the last six months.
«Work? Why are you still at work?» Mark’s voice rose, the edge of his impatience sharpening. «You were supposed to be at the grocery store an hour ago. I’m sitting here starving, you know. I went to the trouble of heating up that casserole this morning.»
«I’m just tired,» Olivia sighed, knowing perfectly well the casserole was long gone.
«Are you kidding me?» Mark’s tone shifted from irritated to furious, and Olivia knew exactly what that meant. Her entire evening would now be a lecture on her failures as a wife, a litany of her ingratitude. After all, in his eyes, it was her fault he was confined to a wheelchair.
Six months ago, she had made the fateful request for him to pick her up from work. A bitter winter cold had gripped the city, and the wind felt like tiny shards of glass against her skin.
«Mark, please,» she had pleaded into the phone. «I stopped at the store on my way in this morning and got two huge bags of groceries.» She’d added, «Plus, the wind chill is brutal out here.»
«And what do you want me to do about it?» Mark had replied, his annoyance clear even through the tinny speaker.
«Just pick me up,» Olivia requested. She could have called a rideshare, but a small, hopeful part of her wanted a simple gesture of care from her husband.
«Seriously?» he’d scoffed. «You want me to drive all the way out there in this deep freeze just because you didn’t plan ahead? Well, I bought that wine you like and stuff for steaks tonight.» Pleased with her own foresight, she’d replied, «Please.»
«Fine,» Mark had muttered through clenched teeth. «I’ll be there.»
After her last lesson, Olivia had waited at the academy’s entrance, the cold seeping through her coat, but he never arrived. She called his cell phone over and over until it went straight to voicemail. She eventually hailed a taxi, the ride home filled with a growing sense of dread. The elevator in their apartment building was, as usual, out of service, and she struggled up seven flights of stairs with the heavy bags, cursing herself with every step. She unlocked the door to their apartment, hoping Mark had simply gotten angry and decided not to come, that his silent treatment was the extent of his punishment.
But the apartment was dark and eerily silent. «Mark, are you home?» she called out, her voice swallowed by the emptiness. No answer. She searched the rooms, a desperate hope fluttering in her chest that he was simply asleep, but Mark was gone. «That’s strange,» she whispered to herself. This wasn’t like him. She tried his phone again, but it remained off.
With a heavy heart, she dialed her mother-in-law, Carol Thompson, a woman with whom her relationship was, at best, strained. From their very first meeting, Carol had made her dislike for Olivia clear. She had envisioned her son marrying his glamorous ex-girlfriend, Jessica, a beautiful and highly sought-after hairstylist. When Mark chose a «plain little piano teacher,» his mother was infuriated.
Sighing, Olivia made the call. «Hello, Carol, it’s Olivia.»
«Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,» Carol’s voice hissed venomously through the phone. «You’ve got some nerve calling this house.»
«What’s wrong?» Olivia asked, taken aback. She was used to Carol’s coldness, but this was a new level of hostility.
«You have the audacity to ask me what’s wrong?» Carol sounded as if she were choking on her own rage.
«I don’t understand,» Olivia said, sinking onto the edge of the sofa. A cold dread began to creep up her spine; she knew something terrible had happened to Mark.
«My son is in the hospital because of you,» Carol’s fury was boundless. «He was in an accident.»
«An accident?» The words hit Olivia like a physical blow. The room started to spin. «What’s wrong with Mark?»
«It’s bad,» Carol shouted. «Mark might never walk again. And it is all. Your. Fault.»
«Where is my husband?» Olivia asked quietly.
«In the ER.»
Without a second thought, Olivia rushed to the hospital. After a tense conversation with the doctors, she learned the devastating news: Mark had a severe spinal injury. He would require extensive and costly rehabilitation, and even then, there was a chance he would remain in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Mark, the doctors said, was lucky. The driver of the other car was not. He was in the ICU, his prognosis uncertain.
