Husband abandoned his disabled wife in the forest, unaware that a mysterious man was watching everything
Emma Johnson had always despised long car trips. The never-ending stretch of road snaking through the dense pine forests of Colorado made her feel more nauseous than the twists and turns themselves. Nevertheless, she remained silent. She had been quiet for most of the morning.
Michael, her spouse of seven years, drove with concentrated quietness. His left hand lay relaxed on the steering wheel, while his right hand drummed softly on his leg, betraying a subtle nervousness. The radio was tuned to a classical music station that Emma didn’t know, playing softly without any lyrics to distract them. They were on their way to a cabin near Tranquil Lake, a spot they hadn’t been to in ages.
During their previous visit, they were newlyweds, slightly drunk on inexpensive wine and exhilarated by each other’s company. Emma recalled plunging into the icy lake to show she was braver than Michael. He had dragged her out, trembling from the cold, and kissed her passionately, as if she were ablaze. Now, the atmosphere in the car was chillier than the lake had ever been.
“Snow is forecasted for tonight,” Michael remarked, finally interrupting the quiet.
Emma glanced out the window. The clouds loomed low, stretched thin like dark smudges across the sky. “Did you remember to pack the blankets?” she asked.
He nodded. “They’re in the back. The cabin has heating, though.” There was a brief pause, then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “This will be good for us.”
Us. That word once felt like a warm embrace. Now it sounded like a hollow echo, repeated out of habit. Emma shifted slightly in her seat, adjusting her legs, which she hadn’t felt since the accident. A hydraulic lift and modifications to the passenger seat allowed her to travel, but every bump in the road reminded her that her body now moved differently—if it moved at all.
“I’m glad you wanted to get away,” she said softly, hoping it didn’t come across as a question.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he turned the wheel sharply onto a gravel path, marked only by a crooked wooden sign: Tranquil Trail, Restricted Access.
Emma frowned. “This isn’t the way to the lake.”
“There’s a back route,” Michael explained. “Less traffic, more scenic.”
The tires crunched over gravel and pine needles. The forest grew denser on both sides, branches scraping against the car like skeletal hands. The GPS on the dashboard went blank. No signal. A sense of dread began to creep through Emma’s veins.
“Mike,” she said slowly, “this feels off.”
He didn’t look at her. “You’re always anxious these days.”
Her jaw clenched. These days, as if her anxiety was a recent whim, not the result of being trapped in a wrecked car eighteen months ago, watching her career, her body, and her freedom slip away all at once.
“Do you even like me anymore?” she whispered….
