On an empty road on a sunny holiday evening, a car cruised along. Inside, behind the wheel, was Chandler, a cheerful man with a warm smile that rarely left his face. He was steering with one hand while scrolling through his playlist with the other.
The bright sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow on him. His wife, Macy, sat beside him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her gaze remained fixed outside the window, her lips pressed into a thin line. The tension in the car was thick, almost suffocating.
Finally settling on a song, Chandler’s face lit up as “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver played through the speakers. He turned to Macy with hopeful eyes and started singing along.
“Almost heaven…” his voice was warm and inviting, trying to lighten the mood.
Macy, however, remained silent, refusing to be swayed. Chandler turned up the volume, determined to cheer her up. But instead of joining in, Macy clenched her jaw, pressing herself against the car door as if trying to escape the music.
“Turn it down,” she muttered, barely audible over the song.
Chandler wasn’t ready to give up. He took a deep breath and sang louder. “Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong…”
Macy’s patience snapped. With an irritated sigh, she reached over and turned off the player. The car fell into silence.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?” Chandler asked, his voice tinged with concern.
“It’s not you… I just don’t feel like listening to songs. You know why.”
Chandler sighed. “Because of my mom, right? It’s just for the weekend, dear…”
“She hates me,” Macy burst out. “No matter what I do, I cook wrong, I clean wrong, I talk wrong, I even look wrong. I can’t breathe around her without her finding a reason to complain.”
“I know,” Chandler admitted. “I don’t know why she’s so hard on you. But it’s only for a couple of days. I’ll talk to her, I promise.”
“No. The last thing I need is for her to know I’m complaining about her.” Macy sighed, rubbing her temples. “I just don’t get it. Why does she treat me like this?”
Chandler reached over, squeezing her hand gently. “We can’t change the direction of the wind…” he said softly.
Macy let out a small, bitter chuckle. “But we can adjust the sails,” she completed the saying.
A tiny smile tugged at her lips. With a sigh, she pressed play again. “Country roads, take me home…” they sang together, Macy’s voice hesitant but growing stronger with each word.
As they pulled up to Linda’s house, Macy took in the sight of the overgrown bushes and cracked walkway. Weeds poked through the cement, making the yard look neglected.
“I’ve offered to hire someone to clean this up for her so many times,” Macy muttered.
“You know how she is. She doesn’t like accepting help,” Chandler said with a small shrug.
“Yeah, yeah. Everything herself. That’s our Linda,” Macy said, rolling her eyes.
“Come on now, she’s still my mom,” Chandler reminded her gently.
“I know,” Macy said, sighing. “It’s just… she’s all alone here.”
Chandler smiled at her. “You mean well, Macy. Over time, things will change.”
Before they could continue, the front door swung open. Linda stood there, wiping her hands on her apron. “Chandler, what took you so long? The food is getting cold!” she called out.
Chandler grinned. “Hi, Mom, we’re here.”
Macy forced a smile. “Hello, Linda.”
Linda gave Macy a once-over before saying flatly, “And you came? Well, welcome.”
Chandler shot Macy a knowing look before they stepped inside. The dining table was set with Linda’s best china, and the smell of stew filled the room. Macy took a deep breath, bracing herself.
“The stew smells amazing, Mom! Just like when I was a kid,” Chandler said, hoping to set a positive tone.
Linda’s face softened slightly. “I know how much you love it. Eat up, son. I bet you don’t get meals like this at home.”
Macy’s grip on her spoon tightened. The jab was clear.
Chandler frowned. “Mom, you don’t have to say that. Macy cooks wonderfully.”
Linda ignored him, instead reaching over to wipe a tiny stain off Chandler’s shirt. “And she also takes great care of your clothes,” she added sarcastically.
Macy’s patience was wearing thin. Taking a deep breath, she stood up. “I’m not very hungry. I’ll just do the dishes.”
She walked to the kitchen, gripping the sink as she turned on the water. In the dining room, Chandler sighed. “Mom, why do you always do this? Macy is my wife.”
“And I’m your mother,” Linda retorted. “I’m just speaking the truth.”
Macy overheard, her anger boiling over. Enough was enough. She stormed back into the dining room, her eyes blazing.
“You want the truth?” Macy snapped. “Fine! You criticize my cooking, my cleaning, even how I look! But have you looked at yourself? Your yard is a mess, your house is falling apart, and you refuse help because you’d rather be miserable and take it out on others!”
Linda gasped. “That’s none of your business!”
“Oh, but my cooking is?” Macy shot back. “You’re just a bitter, lonely woman who enjoys making others feel small!”
“Enough!” Chandler shouted, standing between them. “Stop it, both of you!”
Tears welled in Linda’s eyes, and she turned away. Chandler looked at Macy, his expression torn. “Why did you say that?”
Macy’s lip trembled. “Because it’s true.” She grabbed her coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
That night, Macy found herself at her father’s old house. She wandered through the dusty rooms, memories washing over her. While rummaging through the attic, she found a box of old letters—letters addressed to her father.
She flipped through them, and her heart stopped. They were from Linda.
The letters spoke of love, of heartbreak. Linda had been in love with Macy’s father in her youth. He had left her behind, breaking her heart.
Suddenly, everything made sense. Linda wasn’t cruel without reason—she saw Macy as a reminder of the man who had hurt her.
Macy returned to Linda’s house the next day. Chandler and Linda looked up in surprise as she walked in.
“Dear, I—” Chandler started, but Macy raised a hand.
“No need,” Macy interrupted. She turned to Linda and, after a moment’s hesitation, wrapped her arms around her. “Forgive me. And… forgive my father.”
Linda stiffened but then, slowly, her arms came up around Macy.
In that moment, no words were needed. The past didn’t vanish, but understanding took its place. And for the first time, there was hope for something better.
