“Anyway, I’ll call you later. I think she’s up.”
Susan tiptoed away from the door, her cheeks burning with shame and hurt. She hadn’t meant to offend him, she truly hadn’t. It was just the only thing she had left of her mom. Couldn’t he understand that? Couldn’t he forgive her for this one thing?
Every Saturday, they took the regional shuttle bus to the cabin. They didn’t have a car anymore; Mark had sold their old sedan in the spring, saying the repair costs were more than the car was worth. Susan had been sad to see it go—she’d loved their quiet drives out of the city, just sitting next to him, watching the world go by. But she didn’t argue. He knew more about cars than she did.
The bus left the downtown terminal at 8 a.m., rattled along a bumpy county highway for about an hour, and by nine, they were unlocking the creaky gate to the cabin. The route passed through a few small towns, past fields and forests, before starting a long descent down a steep, winding hill with sharp turns. The drivers always slowed down on that stretch, carefully navigating the narrow road.
Susan loved those trips. She loved watching the countryside roll by, the sleepy towns with their weathered fences, the herds of cows grazing by the roadside. She loved the smell of fresh-cut grass that drifted through the open window and the quiet anticipation of a peaceful day away from the city. Even in the fall, with the fields bare and the trees shedding their last leaves, there was something calming about the journey.
Mark used to enjoy the trips, too. He’d talk about his plans for the property, what vegetables to plant in the spring, how he dreamed of building a small workshop. But lately, he seemed to be going out of obligation. He’d sit silently, scrolling on his phone, giving one-word answers to her questions. Susan chalked it up to stress from work, or maybe just the autumn blues. She told herself it was just a phase, that things would get better. After all, twenty years together was a long time. They’d been through rough patches before and always came out the other side.
That morning, she woke up early, before the alarm. It was barely light outside, and a cold rain was drumming against the windowpane. She didn’t want to get up. She lay there for a moment, listening to the rain. The space next to her was empty; Mark was already up. That was odd. He usually loved to sleep in, especially on weekends.
She slipped out from under the warm comforter and put on her robe. The apartment was quiet, except for a low murmur coming from the kitchen. It sounded like Mark was on the phone. Susan was about to walk in when something stopped her. It was the tone of his voice—hushed, conspiratorial.
“Yeah, everything’s ready,” she heard him say. “Today… No, she doesn’t suspect a thing. It’ll look like a tragic accident.”
Susan’s heart stopped for a beat, then began to pound. She must have misheard. It had to be a joke, or maybe he was talking about work. Some project. It could be anything. She backed away slowly, careful not to make a sound, and returned to the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clenched in her lap.
This was ridiculous. She was imagining things. Mark was her husband. Twenty years. He couldn’t. Could he? Susan shook her head, trying to banish the terrible thoughts. She’d been on edge lately, her nerves frayed. She needed to get a grip and stop inventing horrors. She stood up, straightened her robe, and walked to the kitchen, trying to act normal.
The light was on. Mark was sitting at the table, staring into his coffee cup. His phone was beside him, screen down. He didn’t turn when Susan entered, but she saw his shoulders tense slightly.
“Good morning,” she said, forcing a cheerful tone.
“Mornin’,” he mumbled, still not looking at her.
Susan poured herself some tea and got butter and cheese from the fridge. Her hands were trembling slightly, so she gripped her mug tightly to hide it. They ate breakfast in silence. The quiet was thick and uncomfortable, and Susan couldn’t think of anything to say. His words kept replaying in her mind: “a tragic accident.” It was nonsense. Complete nonsense.
“Hey,” Mark said suddenly, making her jump. “Maybe you should go on your own today. I’ve got some urgent work that came up, a report I need to finish.”
“On a Saturday?” Susan asked, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.
“Yeah, my boss sent it over late last night. Said he needs it first thing Monday morning. You know how he is.”
Something about his voice sounded false. He spoke too smoothly, and he was deliberately avoiding her eyes. But she didn’t argue. Maybe it really was work. Or maybe he just didn’t feel like trekking out to the cabin in this weather. He was allowed to. Or maybe… No. Stop it.
“Okay,” she nodded. “I’ll probably head back early then, be home by lunch.”
Mark nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. A flicker of what looked like relief crossed his face before vanishing.
Susan went to get dressed, feeling his eyes on her back. She was zipping up her jacket in the hallway when he suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. His expression was strange—tense and determined, as if he’d just made a difficult decision.
“You know what, I changed my mind,” he said, in a voice that sent a chill down her spine. “I’m coming with you. The report can wait.”
Susan turned, staring at him in confusion. A knot of dread tightened in her chest.
“But you said it was urgent.”
“It’s fine, I’ll do it tonight. Or tomorrow. I don’t want you going out there alone in this weather.” He smiled, but it was a crooked, strained thing that didn’t reach his eyes.
Susan wanted to say she’d be perfectly fine on her own, that she’d taken this bus dozens of times, that he didn’t need to sacrifice his work for her. But the words caught in her throat. What if she refused? Would that seem suspicious? Like she was afraid of something? Like she knew?
“Okay,” she said, surprised by her own calm. “Then you’d better hurry, or we’ll be late.”
While Mark got ready, Susan stood in the hall, looking at her hands. They weren’t shaking anymore. A strange sense of calm had settled over her, as if everything was already decided and out of her control. She thought about calling someone, telling them her suspicions. But who? Her friends were scattered, and she had little family left. And what would she say? That she’d overheard a fragment of a conversation and let her imagination run wild?
The bus terminal was crowded, despite the early hour and miserable weather. Older couples heading to their country homes, young mothers with strollers, college students with headphones. The air smelled of wet pavement and exhaust fumes. Their bus was already at the platform; the driver stood by the open door, smoking and checking his watch.
Mark had been silent the whole way to the station, walking slightly ahead with his hands in his pockets. A few times, Susan caught him glancing at her—a quick, calculating look. As they walked past the front of the bus toward the door, he slowed his pace for a second and glanced down, toward the undercarriage. Susan saw it out of the corner of her eye but said nothing.
“Why don’t you sit up front?” he said suddenly as they boarded. “It’s a smoother ride. I’ll grab a seat in the back, stretch my legs out.”
“But we always sit together,” Susan objected.
“I know, but my back’s been killing me all morning. I just want to stretch out. You don’t mind, do you?”
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