DEAR LOVER; YOUR LIFE IS MINE TO TAKE

Michael… I had spent the last two hours trying not to turn the car around. But if only I had known how this day would affect my life, I would have made up my mind right then. The road stretched out before me, endless and wet, the sky cracked open with distant thunder. I wasn’t supposed to be out here by this time, going to meet a man I haven’t even seen or heard from in two whole years. Ethan’s message still sat boldly in my phone like its sender, glowing faintly on the dashboard: “Good Times. 10 PM. Don’t make me wait.” No greeting or explanation, just an order. And here I am behind the wheel, going to see him like a f*****g puppy. But I had no choice. If I didn’t, and mom got a wind of it, she would go on and on about how weak he was as a child and how much he suffered. Reminding me that he deserved all the attention he could get. Then what about me? I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and tried to push out the sound of the wipers brushing rain away from the glass, out of my already jumbled mind. The silence in the car was heavy - the kind that made every thought louder and every noise sharper. I should have ignored the message. I should have stayed home, poured a drink, and drowned the memories in music. But something about the location - the Good Times Motel - stuck under my skin. Ethan could have picked anywhere: a restaurant, an office, a club in the city. Instead, he’d chosen this same place where I had last seen my ex before she disappeared like vermin. It was so like Ethan to drag me back into the dark, and after so many years, it was just so hard to resist - I admit that. I wondered if Ethan even remembered the last time we had seen each other - the shouting, the whiskey, the betrayal that left both of us too proud to apologize. And yet, here I am. Blood is just a chain too strong to separate - or maybe I wasn’t trying enough. When the motel sign finally appeared through the storm — flickering neon spelling, “Good Times” in uneven letters with the “s” hanging off like it was tired of sticking with the rest of the alphabet — I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The place looked exactly as I remembered: cheap, dimly lit, and nothing like a place someone went to have a good time. I parked near the end of the lot, under a dead streetlight that buzzed weakly. The rain softened to a drizzle, leaving the smell of wet asphalt thick in the air. Inside, he could see the faint glow of the bar through a narrow window. Two silhouettes moved — a man and a woman. I couldn’t make out their faces, but something about the way she moved behind the counter - deliberate, smooth, unaware of the world watching - drew my gaze longer than it should have. I tore my eyes away and looked down at my hands, which shook with exhaustion rather than fear - the kind that comes from holding too much for too long. Ethan wanted something from me. He always did. I wonder what exactly it is this time. The pain of what he took from me stared back at me as I reached for my phone again. The screen lit up with a picture of my daughter on her eighth birthday, smiling with frosting on her cheek. I haven’t seen her in two years now, And yet, I’m just a few minutes from meeting the man who led me into this mess in the first place. The dashboard clock blinked 9:58. Right on time. I got out and immediately pulled the collar of my jacket up against the rain. My footsteps crunched softly against the gravel as I crossed the parking lot. Every instinct told me this meeting would open a door I’d been trying to keep closed. But I’d learned a long time ago that you can’t run from family. You can only choose to control how they affect you - definitely something I haven’t figured out how to do. The motel door creaked as I pushed it open. Warm light spilled out, washing over my shoes and up my legs like firelight. The air smelled of smoke, cheap liquor, and something faintly floral — a scent that didn’t belong here in this shithole. I stepped inside and scanned the room. A man sat alone at a corner table, hat pulled low, an almost empty glass of whiskey in front of him. For a moment, I thought it might be Ethan, but the hat gave him away. Ethan was the kind of man who loved to be seen and noticed wherever he went. He could never be found hiding under a hat, even if he was wanted. Behind the bar, the woman I had noticed earlier from outside looked up. Her eyes met mine for a fleeting second - steady, assessing, unflinching - before she immediately looked away, then stared back at me almost immediately like she was trying to make sure she didn’t know me. She wasn’t smiling, but there was something about her face, the set of her jaw, the quiet confidence in the way she moved that made me forget what I’d come here for. I nodded once, a polite greeting, and took a seat near the bar. My glass of vodka arrived before I even asked. It made me feel out of control, and oddly satisfied. It made me feel like the next move on a chessboard I hadn’t realized I was part of. ‘I didn’t ask for this,’ I asked her, even though she had already moved on to pour more whisky into the other man’s empty glass. ‘Oh, you must want some whiskey then?’ she answered wryly with no tinge of a smile on her face. She had stopped moving around to look at me, sweat trickling down the sides of her face, and a small pool gathered on the dark circles around her eyes. Her eyes bore into me, and when she looked away for a moment, I didn’t need a psychologist to tell me, something had rippled in her as it had in me, in that moment. ‘Hey b***h, don’t send off customers even in this rain,’ a voice cussed from somewhere behind the scanty shelf of drinks. She rolled her eyes and turned to me again, and not a muscle of hers had relaxed even a little bit. ‘It’s rainy out there, and most of the men prefer vodka to keep warm.’ Her tone had become a bit more gentle, but I could still read her frustration. ‘I am not most men, b***h’ I replied while staring at her and waiting for her response. To my relief, she let out a fleeting smile and walked back to clean up a corner of the room where the rain had found its way in through the old ceiling. Outside, thunder rolled again - low and distant, the sound of a storm circling back. The kind that signaled impending doom.