**Diary Entry**
“Max, you took the wrong turn. We should’ve gone further,” Emily exclaimed.
“I took the right one,” Max replied calmly, steering deeper into the woods down a narrow country lane.
“There should be a clearing right here, but there isn’t,” Emily said, scanning the trees. “Let’s go back and drive a bit further. Max, are you listening? Stop the car!”
But he kept going, unwilling to admit he was wrong. The road narrowed, grass sprouting between the ruts. The path to the holiday cottages should’ve been well-travelled, but instead, they were plunging deeper into nowhere.
“Stop!” Emily snapped, properly angry now. “Are you ignoring me?”
“Where exactly am I supposed to stop? There’s no room to turn around. I’ll find a gap in the trees…”
“Because you should’ve reversed ages ago. You never listen. Stubborn as a mule.” Emily folded her arms, glaring. *Why can’t he just admit he’s wrong?*
Branches scraped the car, yellow leaves fluttering onto the bonnet. Finally, Max stopped. The sudden silence in the car was suffocating.
“Couldn’t you have stopped sooner? Now we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“How many times do I have to say—don’t backseat drive,” Max shot back.
Emily scowled. Max turned the key, inched the car into reverse. She held her breath, watching the side mirror, terrified they’d hit a tree. It took ages, crawling backward, wheels nearly slipping twice. Finally, they reached the main road again.
“Would’ve saved time if you’d listened in the first place,” Emily muttered, though her anger had dulled now they were out of the woods.
“And you always have to be right, don’t you? Constantly lecturing me. Think I enjoy that?” His voice was sharp now.
“Seriously, Max? So you kept driving just to spite me? And how’s that working out for you?” She rubbed her temples. “Are we moving or not? We’ve wasted enough time.”
“You’re doing it again—ordering me around.”
“I’m not! Fine. Let’s just sit here then.” She leaned back, closed her eyes. *Why does everything have to be a battle?*
It hadn’t always been like this. They’d met on a beach in Brighton. Her friend had gone to change, and Emily, pale-skinned and burning, had hesitantly approached the tanned, athletic bloke nearby.
“Could you help? I’ll burn to a crisp otherwise.” She’d handed him the sunscreen.
His grin was dazzling. Warm hands spread cream over her shoulders, and she’d shivered—not from the breeze. Later, she’d admit that was the moment she fell for him.
Max walked her home that day, kissed her at her doorstep. A month later, despite her parents’ protests, she moved in with him. Back then, his impulsiveness was thrilling. Now it just grated.
She hadn’t even wanted to go today. His mates’ holiday cottage wasn’t her scene. She’d only been once—New Year’s Eve—and remembered the clearing right off the main road.
Max drummed his fingers on the wheel.
“Stop that,” she said.
She felt him glance at her but kept her eyes shut. The engine rumbled to life, and he pulled onto the road.
“Alright, navigator, point out the turn,” he said minutes later.
She opened her eyes, scanned the passing trees. “We… might’ve missed it.”
“Don’t say this is my fault too. You were supposed to be watching.”
“Just stop here.”
This time, he did. A BMW sped past, horn blaring.
“Let’s not go,” Emily said suddenly.
“What? Why?”
“This whole trip’s a mess. I don’t want to.”
“Women,” he sighed. “Always ‘I feel this, I feel that.’ We’re nearly there!”
She yanked the door open. “I’m not going. I’d rather not end up hating you today.”
“Em, get back in the car!”
“I told you I didn’t want to come!” She strode off.
Max followed, grabbing her elbow. “It’s not safe out here.”
“Your friends are waiting. Go.” She jerked free.
“Last chance. Get in the car.”
She stared at the road, silent.
“Fine.” He walked back, slammed the door. The engine roared.
She couldn’t believe he’d actually leave her. But the car sped past, exhaust stinging her eyes. Five minutes. Ten. He didn’t return.
Rain began to fall. She crossed the road, thumb out. A car slowed—not Max’s. A foreign bloke leaned out. “Need a lift?”
Then she noticed another man in the back seat. “No thanks. My husband’s picking me up.” She hurried away, heart pounding.
The rain thickened. Another car stopped—a middle-aged man in a van with curtained windows. She refused. Shivering, she trudged on until a woman in a Volvo pulled over.
“You’ll catch your death out here. Get in.”
Too exhausted to argue, Emily collapsed into the seat.
“Fell out with your boyfriend?” the woman guessed.
Emily nodded, tears mixing with rain.
“He left you here? Bloody idiot.” The woman cranked up the heat. “Men. My ex walked out when our son was born. Little Sam’s got cerebral palsy. Never even called.”
Emily’s own grief shrank in comparison.
The woman—Margaret, her card said—dropped her home with strict instructions: “No hot baths. Tea and a blanket only.”
Inside, Emily checked her phone. No calls. *Typical.*
She fell asleep wrapped in the blanket, only waking when Max pulled her into his arms, whispering apologies.
“I got lost, my phone died—some old woman in a village said I’d lose what I hadn’t even found yet. Em, is it true? Are you pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She cried then—not from anger, but relief.
They’d fight again, of course. But for now, his arms around her were enough.
*(Later, their son was born healthy. They married. Fights came and went. But so did the making up.)*
