Traffic Jam
The cars had come to a complete standstill, packed tightly in endless rows. Not a single vehicle had moved in either direction for the past half hour. Every window was rolled up, air conditioning humming against the unbearable heat outside—well over thirty degrees, just as the weather report had warned.
The air above the sun-scorched tarmac shimmered, warped by the rising heat. Inside the Mercedes, it was cool, but sitting motionless, staring at the frozen scene ahead, had grown tedious.
Laura twisted the cap off her plastic water bottle and took a few sips. David noticed barely a third remained. She kept drinking without offering him any. Not that he would’ve taken it—he’d have insisted she have the last drop. But she acted as if he weren’t even there.
“How much longer is this going to last?” Laura snapped.
They hadn’t spoken since leaving the countryside cottage. Her silence was worse than shouting. He preferred anger—at least that was something he could work with. Instead, she’d go quiet for hours, sometimes days, radiating blame until he apologised, listened to her lecture, and they made up.
“Well? Do something!” she lashed out again, as if the standstill on the M25 were his fault.
This time, it was David who stayed quiet. He had nothing to say.
“And why did we even bother going to that stupid cottage? Fine for you, but me? Just sitting outside the fence while you cooed over your daughter? I could’ve been shopping. Or having ice cream with Milly.” She sniffed.
“Great, now my nose is blocked. As if the A/C wasn’t bad enough.”
David turned the air conditioning off.
“Are you serious? The car’ll be an oven in minutes. Do you want us to suffocate?”
He couldn’t recall her ever talking this much. It unsettled him. But he said nothing, turning the A/C back on. Ahead, a man weaved between the idling cars before slipping into one a few rows over.
“Did you see that? He came from up front. Maybe he knows what’s happening,” Laura said.
“Maybe.”
“Well? Go ask him.”
David hesitated. “What’s the point? The jam’s probably miles long. Doubt he walked the whole thing in half an hour.”
But the look Laura gave him made him feel guilty anyway.
“Fine.” He stepped out.
The line of cars stretched endlessly in both directions. The man had gone into a red Ford. David tapped the window, and it rolled halfway down.
“Sorry—did you go up ahead? Any idea why we’re stuck?”
“Feels like the whole motorway’s at a standstill. No clue—crash, maybe. Or a terror threat.”
Nothing new. The sweltering heat clung to David’s back, sweat soaking his shirt. He returned to the car just as the radio crackled with updates—nothing about the jam.
“Well?” Laura demanded.
“Nobody knows. Could be the whole M25. Someone mentioned a terror threat.”
“Of course. Why did I even listen to you?”
David agreed silently. He should’ve left her at home. He’d still be at the cottage with his daughter, driving back after sunset when the roads were clear.
But the day had started so well…
***
David woke to his phone ringing. Half-asleep, he answered without checking.
“Dad, are you coming?” His daughter Emily’s voice.
“Hello? Did you forget your daughter’s birthday?” His ex-wife now. “I bet you haven’t even bought a present yet.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I’m leaving now,” he lied, blinking at the sunlight—already past nine-thirty.
He had remembered—until last night. A long evening at the pub with Laura and his mates had wiped it clean.
“Dad, I don’t need a present, just come! I miss you!” Emily shouted before the call cut.
They’d married young—thirteen years ago. Ten of those spent fighting. He hadn’t loved her. Just a drunk mistake at a uni party, waking up beside a girl whose name he barely knew.
A month later, she’d found him on campus. Pregnant. “She’s alright,” he’d thought, and proposed. His parents were horrified, demanded a paternity test. He’d done one after Emily was born. No doubt she was his.
Holding her for the first time, he’d fallen hard. Never imagined love like that. So he’d endured his wife’s jealousy, her nagging. Might’ve endured it forever—if not for Laura.
Cold, arrogant, stunning like a goddess—she never screamed. Just went silent, punishing him. Her only flaw. She’d stroll around the flat in tiny shorts, teasing him until he apologised for things he hadn’t even done.
He’d felt lucky. Until today.
After Emily’s call, Laura had asked what was wrong. He confessed—he’d forgotten the birthday, promised to visit the cottage where his ex and daughter lived summers.
“You’re leaving? Now? So I sit home alone all weekend?” She’d stormed off naked to the shower. The sight short-circuited his brain. He’d followed.
“Come with me.”
“To your ex’s cottage?”
“Yeah. What’s the big deal? We’re divorced.” He’d expected refusal, so he pushed. “It’s beautiful there—river, woods, we’ll swim…”
“You’re serious?”
“Yep. But we’ve got to hurry.”
They’d bought Emily a gift and driven out. As he’d guessed, Laura lost her nerve at the last second, waiting in the car.
Emily had thrown herself into his arms, and David realised how much he’d missed her. Time flew. When he said he had to leave, she’d burst into tears.
His ex stood nearby, hearing his excuses about traffic, work tomorrow…
“Dad’s got to go. Someone’s waiting in the car. Brave enough to come, too scared to step inside?” she’d sneered.
David hadn’t even looked at her.
“I’ll visit next Sunday,” he promised, peeling Emily’s arms away. His heart split between love for her, guilt over Laura waiting outside.
He’d thought it quick—forty minutes. Laura gave him a sharp look, turned away. As he drove off, he glimpsed them through the fence. His ex might’ve been smirking—hard to tell.
Apologies spilled out the whole drive. He couldn’t just leave, Emily had been crying… Laura stayed silent, even as the traffic jam swallowed them.
Why had he brought her?
***
“Why did you make me come?” she asked again.
“I didn’t know we’d get stuck!” he exploded. “I’m not bloody psychic.”
She blinked, startled by his outburst.
“Don’t shout at me.” Teeth clenched.
“Sorry. Let’s just wait it out.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“You still don’t get it.” Her calm tone chilled him. “I don’t love you. Haven’t for ages. I can’t do this anymore. You never decide anything.”
She stepped out, holding the door, not seeing the cars lurch forward behind her.
“I don’t love you!” she repeated, stepping back.
“Laura, wait—!”
Too late. A van accelerated—she vanished beneath its wheels.
The jam broke. Horns blared as drivers surged past.
Laura lay unconscious—no visible injuries.
“Not my fault—she walked right—” the van driver stammered.
“Help me get her in the car,” David said.
The hospital kept her overnight. The young doctor assured him—no fractures, just observation. Come back tomorrow.
He brought flowers, fruit. Found the doctor holding Laura’s hand, smiling.
David left the gifts at the nurse’s station and walked out.
A week later, Laura collected her things. Through the window, he saw the doctor waiting downstairs.
He never learned what caused the jam. Didn’t matter now.
***
A year later, driving home, a dog darted into the road. He braked—too late. A woman gasped, rushing over.
“Your dog? Should’ve kept it leashed!”
“Not mine. It needs a vet—please help…” She draped her jumper over the back seat.
The dog panted, bloodied, leg twisted. David paid for its treatment, drove the woman home.
At her door, she invited him in—wash up, change shirts. He didn’t argue.
As he scrubbed his hands, Irene boiled the kettle, handed him her father’s old shirt.
“Your husband won’t mind?”
“Dad’s. He died two years ago. Couldn’t throw his things out.”
The tea was strong, good. Her kitchen—cosy, simple—felt familiar.
“Have we met? Feels like I’ve been here before.”
She smiled. “Doubt it.”
“You’re a teacher?”
“Yes. How’d you know?”
“Name suits it,” he admitted, embarrassed.
EasyAs he sat there, the weight of his past mistakes lifted, and for the first time in years, David felt like he was exactly where he belonged.
