I came home exhausted, ready to collapse, but laughter from the garage hit me like a slap. There they were—my husband and his deadbeat best friend, hands greasy, sweating, “fixing” that same damn car. When Mark suggested I get a second job, something inside me snapped. So I did.

I walked into the house, my whole body aching like I had been carrying the entire damn world on my back.

My shoulders felt like cement, my feet throbbed, and my head pounded in rhythm with my own heartbeat.

Work had drained every last drop of energy out of me, and all I wanted was to collapse onto the couch, maybe eat something, maybe close my eyes for just a minute.

But the moment I stepped inside, the sound of laughter shot through my exhaustion like a slap.

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I froze for a second, my fingers still wrapped around my keys. Laughter—deep, careless, and completely out of place in this house where bills were stacking up and responsibilities were pressing in like a heavy fog. My jaw tightened.

I already knew what I’d find before I even pushed the door open, but I walked toward it anyway, each step heavier than the last.

The garage smelled like oil and sweat. The scent of metal hung thick in the air, mixing with the dampness of the summer heat.

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And there they were—my husband, Mark, and his leech of a best friend, Greg.

Grease-covered hands, sweat-stained shirts, bottles dripping condensation onto the workbench. And, of course, the same goddamn car they’d been “fixing” for weeks.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.

Mark barely looked up, his head still buried under the hood of the car, as if I wasn’t even standing there.

“Hey, babe. How was work?”

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My hands curled into fists at my sides. How was work? My skin prickled at the sheer nerve of that question.

I ignored it. “Again? You’re still messing with this thing?”

Greg, leaning against the car like he owned the place, grinned. That lopsided, cocky smirk that always made me want to slap it off his face.

“Takes time to do it right,” he said, taking a slow sip from his beer.

“Oh yeah?” My voice sharpened like a blade. “Maybe Mark should try spending time looking for a job instead.”

That got his attention. Mark finally straightened up, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, as if that somehow made him look like a man who worked for a living.

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“I’m trying, okay? It’s not that easy.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “No, I guess spending every afternoon in the garage drinking with Greg is easier, huh?”

Greg chuckled, taking another swig from his beer before shaking his head.

“Hey, maybe you could just work two jobs till he finds something. You’re already good at carrying the load.”

Something cold and sharp ran through me, slicing through my exhaustion, my patience, my restraint.

I turned to Mark, waiting for him to say something, to tell his idiot friend to shut up, to at least pretend to have my back. But instead, he just… shrugged.

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“It’s not a bad idea,” he said.

My breath caught in my throat. I stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to laugh and tell me Greg was just being an ass. But he didn’t.

Something inside me snapped.

“Fine,” I said, my voice as cold and sharp as glass. “I’ll find another job.”

And I did.

One week later, exhaustion had settled so deep in my bones that even my thoughts felt heavy.

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The auto wash had drained me—hot water, strong chemicals, the endless scrubbing that left my fingers raw and my back screaming. Even my days off weren’t mine anymore.

I pushed the door open, hoping, just maybe, for a little relief. But the second I stepped inside, I knew better.

The place looked like a war zone. The sink overflowed with dishes, cloudy water sitting at the bottom, a few forks and knives sticking out like buried weapons.

The couch was covered in laundry—crumpled shirts, mismatched socks, wrinkled jeans—just dumped there, untouched. Dust clung to every surface like a thick layer of neglect.

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And there, right in the middle of it all, stood Mark. Arms crossed. Face twisted in a frown, like he was the one exhausted.

“No dinner?” he asked.

I blinked. I actually had to take a second, just to be sure I heard him right.

Then I laughed. Short. Sharp. Cold. “You think I have time to work two jobs and keep this place spotless?”

He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, like I was the one being unreasonable.

“That’s a woman’s job.”

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I felt my fingers twitch. Not a fist. Not yet. But something inside me burned.

I let my bag slip off my shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

“Then do it,” I said, my voice flat, empty. “Because I’m done.”

His frown deepened. “I have plans. Greg and I—”

“Of course you do.” I cut him off, shaking my head. “You always do.”

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The weight of my words hung between us. He shifted his feet, glancing away like a kid caught doing something wrong.

I stepped closer. “Promise me—if you get a job offer, you’ll take it.”

He hesitated. Just a second. Barely even that. But I saw it.

His jaw tightened. “Fine. I promise.”

I stared at him for a long moment, searching for something—guilt, regret, even the smallest flicker of sincerity.

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But I didn’t see it.

And I didn’t know if I believed him.

It was late, and my whole body felt like dead weight.

My feet ached, my hands still smelled like soap and car wax, and my eyelids drooped like they were made of stone.

I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the couch, letting out a slow breath.

Before I could even think about closing my eyes, I heard footsteps. Mark.

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I didn’t even bother looking up. “If you’re about to ask about dinner, I swear—”

“They called me,” he said, cutting me off.

His tone was different. Something off about it. I cracked one eye open, rubbing my temples. “Who?”

“The job.” He stepped closer, standing in front of me now. “They want me to come in tomorrow. Mechanic job.”

I sat up a little, blinking away my exhaustion. “Wait—really?”

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Mark crossed his arms, and that’s when I saw it—the look on his face. Smug. Almost proud, like he had just proved some big point.

“Yeah,” he said. “Greg and I are going in together. See? You doubted me.”

I stared at him, my brain trying to process everything at once. I should have been relieved. Happy, even. This was what I had wanted, wasn’t it?

But that last part—you doubted me—hit me the wrong way.

I sat up fully, shaking my head. “Mark, I never doubted you,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I just wanted you to stop doubting yourself.”

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Something flickered across his face, just for a second, but then he smirked, like he had won some argument I wasn’t even trying to have.

I wanted to be happy for him. I really did. But the way he was acting—like this was some kind of win—made my stomach twist.

I pressed my lips together and nodded slowly. “Well,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. “I hope it works out.”

Then I leaned back against the couch, closed my eyes, and let the silence sit between us.

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The smell of stale coffee hung in the air, mixing with the faint scent of paper and printer ink.

My office was quiet except for the steady hum of the overhead lights and the distant sound of ringing phones from down the hall.

I stared at the stack of reports in front of me, the words blurring together. My mind was too foggy, too drained to process any of it.

I ran a hand over my face, willing myself to focus, when a knock at the door broke the silence.

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“Got a minute?”

I looked up to see Jake, one of my coworkers, leaning against the doorframe, a folder tucked under his arm.

His tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looked tired too.

“Yeah,” I said, stretching my fingers before folding my hands on the desk.

He stepped inside, flipping open the folder as he walked. “Those candidates you mentioned?” he said, glancing up at me.

“Not a lot of experience, but as you asked, we’re giving them a shot.”

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I nodded, my stomach tightening just a little. “That’ll do,” I said. My voice came out even, but I could feel something shifting inside me.

I reached for my coffee mug, took a sip, then immediately regretted it. Cold. Bitter. I set it down and exhaled.

“I’ll check on them myself,” I added after a pause.

Jake nodded, closing the folder with a soft thud. “Figured you would.”

As he left, I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

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Something in my chest stirred. I didn’t know if it was anticipation or dread. Maybe both.

The evening air was thick with the smell of car wax, gasoline, and the faint scent of burnt rubber. The fluorescent lights above the garage buzzed, casting a cold glow over the pavement.

A light breeze stirred the dust near my feet, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat simmering inside me.

I stepped outside, my eyes scanning the group of new hires gathered near the entrance.

They stood in a loose huddle, shifting on their feet, hands tucked in pockets, looking around with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

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Then I saw them.

Mark. And Greg.

Mark’s face went pale the second our eyes met, like he’d just walked into a trap he never saw coming.

Greg, on the other hand, took a second longer, his brows knitting together before his mouth parted slightly. Then he let out a low whistle.

“You’re the new boss?” Mark’s voice barely made it past his throat.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Looks like it.”

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Mark swallowed hard. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, the way his brain struggled to process what was right in front of him. He wasn’t stupid. He understood.

Greg, of course, took longer. He scratched his chin, his confusion written all over his face.

“Wait… you work here?” He blinked twice before realization finally hit. “Oh. Oh.”

Mark exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck, his fingers digging into the skin like he was trying to wake himself up from a bad dream. “Damn.”

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I raised an eyebrow, waiting.

His shoulders slumped slightly. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I?”

I tilted my head. “You said it, not me.”

He let out a short, breathy laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just something tired, something defeated.

“I didn’t see it,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “You—everything you’ve done. I didn’t see how strong you were. How much I took you for granted.”

Silence settled between us. Heavy. Unfinished.

Then, finally, he met my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The words landed softer than I expected, but I didn’t rush to respond. I let them sit there, stretching out between us.

I sighed, shaking my head, my voice steady. “Let’s see if you mean it.”

And with that, I turned and walked back inside.

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