Chapter 1 – The Lonely Ride

Monette was driving his car on a long road. His hands were tight on the wheel. His face showed pain. His heart was heavy with thoughts. He was not happy. He was not calm. He felt like the world had left him behind.

He thought about his wife. She was not close to him anymore. She spent her time with another man. Monette felt broken. He whispered, “Why did she do this? I gave her love. I gave her care. But she walked away.” His voice was low, but it was full of hurt.

The road moved under his car, but Monette did not see the road. He only saw his pain. He thought about the past. He remembered the days when his wife smiled at him. He remembered when she said, “I will stay with you always.” That promise was now gone.

Monette pressed his lips together. His eyes felt hot. He tried not to cry. “I was a good husband,” he told himself. “I worked. I tried. I gave her what I could. Still, she went to him. Still, she laughed with him.” He shook his head. His chest was full of anger.

He spoke again, but there was no one to hear. “She made me believe in her. She made me feel safe. But now she makes me feel small. She makes me feel weak. I am not weak. I am not.” He hit the wheel once, but the sound of the car stayed the same.

Minutes passed, but Monette’s mind was not quiet. He talked to himself like a man who had no friend. “How can she forget me so fast? How can she give her hand to him? What did I do wrong? Tell me, what did I do wrong?” His words filled the car, but no answer came.

He thought about leaving everything. He thought about stopping the car and never moving again. But he knew he could not do that. Life was still pulling him forward. He had no choice but to keep driving.

He remembered when he and his wife first met. She laughed with him then. She held his hand. She told him he was her world. That memory now felt like a trick. He asked himself, “Was it all a lie? Was she always waiting for someone better? Was I only a step on her path?”

Monette took a deep breath, but it was hard to hold. His body felt weak. He wanted to scream. But no scream came. Only silence sat with him. His thoughts grew darker. He wondered if she even cared that he was hurt. He wondered if she thought of him at all.

The car kept moving forward. The road had no end, but Monette was lost in his own world. His heart was heavy. His words had no listener. His pain had no cure. He was alone in his car, and he was alone in his life.

He whispered one last time, “I gave her my heart. She broke it. Now what is left for me?” The sound of his own voice faded. His hands shook a little, but he kept driving. The lonely ride was not over yet.