“Max, you took the wrong turn. We should’ve gone further,” exclaimed Daisy.
“I turned the right way,” Max replied calmly, continuing down the narrow forest lane.
“There should be a clearing here, but there’s nothing,” Daisy said, looking around. “Let’s go back. Max, listen to me—stop the car!”
He kept driving, refusing to yield. Daisy could tell he knew he was wrong—the path grew narrower, weeds sprouting between the tracks. The road to the holiday park should’ve been well-travelled, but they were only plunging deeper into the woods.
“Stop!” she snapped. “Are you even listening?”
“Where would I stop? There’s no room to turn around. I’ll find a gap in the trees—”
“You should’ve reversed ages ago. You never listen. Stubborn as a mule!” Daisy folded her arms and glared ahead. *Why can’t he just admit he’s wrong?*
Branches scraped against the car, yellow leaves scattering over the bonnet. Finally, Max stopped. The silence inside was suffocating.
“Couldn’t you have stopped sooner? Because of you, we’re in the middle of nowhere. Lucky we didn’t end up in a ditch.”
“How many times have I told you not to backseat-drive?” Max shot back.
Daisy scowled. Max turned the key and reversed cautiously, tires crunching over twigs. She watched the side mirror, tense, praying they wouldn’t back into a tree. It took ages before they finally reached the main road again.
“You could’ve just reversed from the start,” Daisy muttered, her anger fading now that they were out of the woods.
“And you always have to be right, don’t you? You don’t even realise how much you lecture me. Think I enjoy it?” Frustration edged his voice.
“What, Max? So you kept driving just to spite me? Did that help? Now we’ve lost time because of your stubbornness.” The headache brewing behind her eyes made everything worse.
Lately, they bickered constantly. Was it adjustment or fading love? The honeymoon phase had ended, revealing flaws they’d ignored before. Petty arguments over small things—but life *was* made of small things.
“You’re ordering me around again. You don’t even notice.”
“I’m not! Fine, let’s just sit here then. I don’t even want to go anymore.” Daisy leaned back, closing her eyes, done with arguing.
It had all started so perfectly. They’d met by chance at Brighton beach. Her friend had gone to change, and the sun burned Daisy’s fair skin. Nearby, only a tanned, athletic guy sat. She’d handed him sunscreen.
“Could you help? My back’s burning.”
He’d grinned and obliged, his warm hands spreading lotion down her spine. Goosebumps prickled her skin. Later, she confessed—that was the moment she fell for him.
She melted under his touch like ice cream in the sun, flustered by her own reaction. “Thanks, I’ve got it,” she’d said, reclaiming the tube and retreating.
Her friend returned, and they swam. The guy—Max—followed. Introductions led to walks, then him kissing her goodnight. From then on, they were inseparable. His impulsiveness balanced her steadiness—until it didn’t.
A month later, despite her parents’ protests, Daisy moved in with him. Passion, freedom, joy—she’d thought it would last forever. If someone had told her they’d argue like this in a year, she’d have laughed.
But love wasn’t perfect. The rose-tinted glasses fell off, revealing flaws and habits that grated. And now this trip.
Daisy hadn’t wanted to go. Max’s friends made her uncomfortable. She’d only been to the holiday park once for New Year’s. She remembered the turn by the clearing—except Max missed it.
His fingers drummed the wheel.
“Stop that,” Daisy said.
She felt his glare but kept her eyes shut. He revved the engine, merged into traffic, and minutes later muttered, “Well, Navigator, point out the turn then.”
Daisy opened her eyes. “I think… we passed it.”
“Don’t say this is my fault. You could’ve watched the road,” he said sharply. “What now?”
“Just pull over.”
This time, Max listened. A speeding Audi honked as they stopped.
“Let’s not go,” Daisy said suddenly.
“Why?” Max frowned.
“Everything’s gone wrong. I don’t like this.”
“Typical. Now you want to turn back? We’re nearly there! Daisy—” He gaped as she flung the door open. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not going. I don’t want to fight anymore. You go—your mates are waiting.” Sarcasm dripped from her words as she slammed the door.
“Daise, come on. Get back in. You should’ve said you didn’t want to go!”
“I *did*!” She stepped away.
Max followed, grabbing her arm. “It’s dangerous here. Get in the car.”
“Your friends are waiting. Buses run here.” She yanked free.
“Last chance,” he said through gritted teeth.
Daisy stared at the road.
“Fine.” He stormed off.
The door slammed. The engine roared. She didn’t believe he’d leave her—but the car sped past, exhaust fumes stinging her eyes. She watched it shrink into the distance, hope crumbling. Five minutes. Ten. He didn’t return.
Daisy crossed the road and started hitchhiking. Rain drizzled.
Brakes screeched behind her. *Max!* She turned—but a stranger smiled from a hatchback.
“Need a lift, love? You’ll catch your death out here.”
Daisy glanced around for Max’s car. *Whatever.* She reached for the door—then saw another man in the back.
“Sorry, I’m waiting for my husband.” She backed away, hurrying off. The car followed, urging her to get in, until they finally drove off. Relief washed over her. The rain worsened, soaking her jacket, trickling down her neck.
She kept looking back. How could Max abandon her? Fine, they fought—but he should’ve cooled off by now. Why had she called him a mule? She knew he was sensitive. *My fault.* She fumbled for her phone—then remembered leaving it at home.
“Perfect!” she cried.
Max was probably furious she wasn’t answering. He didn’t know she *couldn’t*.
“Max, please come back,” she whispered, shivering. “It’s raining. I’m cold…”
Another car honked. A van. A man in his forties asked, “Need a ride?”
She shook her head. He waited, then left.
Daisy trudged on, freezing, hands tucked into her thin jacket. She lost track of time before another car stopped—a woman leaned out.
“Get in. You’ll make yourself ill.”
Too exhausted to argue, Daisy climbed in, checking the back seat first.
“Someone hurt you?” the woman guessed.
Daisy trembled, tears mixing with rain.
“Warm up.” The woman turned on the seat heater.
Soon, warmth seeped into Daisy’s bones.
“Tissues in the glovebox.”
Daisy wiped her face.
“What happened?” The woman—Margot, mid-forties—studied her kindly.
“Fought with my boyfriend. We were going to his mate’s holiday home.”
“He left you *here*?” Margot shook her head.
Daisy sniffled.
“What a git. Arguments are one thing, but this? You could’ve been hurt.” She noticed Daisy’s hand on her stomach. “Oh. He didn’t know?”
Daisy shook her head. “I was going to tell him there.”
“Sweetheart, don’t defend him. Men—ha! Mine swore he’d stick by me. Late pregnancy, risky. Everyone said terminate, but I kept my boy. He’s four now. Doesn’t walk, but he reads! Bright as anything. Lives with Mum while I work—treatment abroad costs a fortune. His father? Never called. Never visited.” Margot’s laugh was bitter. “Took me ages to stop making excuses for him.”
Daisy listened, her own pain dimming beside Margot’s.
“You’ll be alright. Just don’t take a hot bath—stick to tea and blankets.” Margot stopped, fetched a blanket from the boot, and tucked it around Daisy. “Leaving a pregnant woman stranded—unforgivable.”
“It’s my fault—”
“Did you call him a mule for fun? Or was there a reason?”
“He wouldn’t listen, missed the turn… I didn’t even want to go.”
“Sounds like a child. You’d never leave him like this, would you? Men never think.”
As they neared the city, Margot asked, “Where to?”
Daisy gave herAt home, Daisy curled into Max’s embrace, the storm of their argument fading into the warmth of forgiveness, and whispered, “Next time, just listen,” as the baby kicked gently between them.
