He Locked Me On The Interstate

I had just merged onto the interstate in my brand-new, sixty-thousand-dollar Tesla Model Y when the car suddenly choked, locking my speed at precisely twelve miles per hour. Thinking it was some kind of catastrophic system failure, I hastily switched on my hazard lights and called my boyfriend, my hands shaking on the steering wheel. He answered, his voice light with an easy, mocking chuckle. “Myra suddenly decided she wants to go skiing up at Stevens Pass,” Wyatt said. “She was worried you’d drive the car too far away before she could get the keys, so I set the speed limit on the app.” Behind me, horns blared in a deafening, angry chorus. In the rearview mirror, the massive grille of a semi-truck loomed, its brakes screeching as it swerved to avoid me. The sound of the horn seemed to vibrate straight through my skull. I missed a pileup by inches. “Just pull over to the shoulder,” Wyatt added, entirely oblivious to the chaos he had unleashed. “Her cousin Trent is on his way to pick it up from you.” Then came the familiar, heavy-handed sigh. “She rarely gets a chance to have some fun, Lydia. Don’t be so selfish.” I stared at the glowing digital dashboard, the speed frozen at a mockery of twelve miles per hour. Suddenly, the urge to argue, to scream, to explain the terror of almost being crushed by a semi-truck, evaporated. Half an hour later, I managed to limp the car back to the Tesla delivery center. The sales associate who had handed me the keys just an hour prior came jogging out, her face a mix of confusion and worry. “Lydia? Is there something wrong with the registration?” I pushed the purchase contract across the glossy desk. “The paperwork is fine,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “The person is the problem.” 1 The sales associate, Fiona, froze with her hand halfway to the document. “Lydia, the delivery is already finalized on our end,” she said gently, looking out at the heavy Seattle rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. “Reversing a vehicle purchase like this is… well, it’s incredibly complicated.” My hands were still trembling. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the headlights of that semi-truck bearing down on my rear bumper. The phantom blast of its air horn was still ringing in my ears. “I don’t care how complicated it is.” Fiona took a closer look at my pale face and lowered her voice. “Did something happen on the road? If it was a software glitch or a sudden speed limitation, we can have our service team run a diagnostic immediately.” Before she could finish, my phone buzzed on the desk. It was an audio message from Wyatt. I tapped it, and his impatient, sharp voice cut through the quiet showroom: “Lydia, where the hell did you take the car? Trent has been standing out on the shoulder in the freezing rain for thirty minutes. Can you grow up for once? It’s just a car. Do you really have to make everything so ugly?” Fiona’s expression shifted. A couple of sales reps at the desks nearby stopped typing. I closed the message and typed a three-word response: “I returned it.” Within seconds, my phone rang. When I answered, Wyatt’s voice sounded like it had been dragged through gravel. “Have you lost your mind? I spent weeks helping you pick out that spec. You’re just going to return it?” “Did you pay for it?” I asked. The silence in the showroom was so absolute I could hear the hum of the lighting fixtures. “I paid for it,” I said, my voice steady, though my chest felt hollow. “Every single cent.” There was a brief pause on the line. Then, he let out a sharp, condescending laugh. “Oh, so now we’re keeping score, Lydia? You bought this car so we could use it when we get married. What’s the big deal if Myra borrows it for a weekend? Besides, I only put a temporary speed cap on it to make sure she could actually get the keys. It’s not like you got hurt.” A coldness seeped through my ribs, wrapping around my heart. Wyatt was a smart-vehicle integration engineer. Before I bought the car, he had insisted on being involved in every step. He claimed his connections could get me a better corporate discount, and that binding the primary vehicle account to his developer profile would make the security features more robust. On delivery day, he had taken my phone, setting up the car’s profiles and pairing the keys with an air of absolute authority. I had stood there in the delivery bay, watching him explain the features to me as if he were describing the foundation of our future home. At the time, I actually felt a swell of warmth. I thought he was finally putting effort into our life together. Fiona silently set a cup of warm water in front of me. When my fingers brushed the paper cup, I realized just how cold my hands were. From the other end of the line, Myra’s soft, fragile voice drifted through the speaker. “Wyatt, please, let’s just forget it. I’m sure Lydia is just attached to her new car. I don’t need to go skiing anyway. It’s fine. People like me… well, wanting to be happy for once is a luxury I shouldn’t expect.” Wyatt’s tone shifted instantly, turning gentle and protective. “Don’t say that. When have I ever broken a promise to you?” When he spoke to me again, the warmth vanished, replaced by a cold command. “Lydia, drive the car back right now. Myra’s cabin rental is non-refundable. If you ruin this trip for her, I’m not going to bail you out.” I looked down at my signature on the contract. Every stroke of the pen represented a piece of my life. That sixty-thousand-dollar down payment held the fifteen thousand my grandmother had left me, three years of brutal overtime savings, and the money I had set aside to renovate our future home. Wyatt had told me the house could wait. He said we needed a reliable car first. He said his mother’s hips were failing, and we needed something comfortable to take her to physical therapy on weekends. He said my commute was too long, and that a safer car would give him peace of mind. Yet, on day one, that very car had almost cost me my life on the I-90. “Wyatt,” I said, my voice flatter than I expected. “When you remotely locked my car to twelve miles per hour, did you even care that I was in the middle lane of the interstate?” He let out an irritated click of his tongue. “The limit was temporary. Couldn’t you have just pulled over? If your driving skills are that terrible, don’t blame me.” Just then, the glass doors of the showroom slid open. A man in a damp black rain jacket walked in. He glanced around the pristine space before locking eyes with me and walking over. “Lydia, right?” he said, shaking the water off his sleeves. “I’m Myra’s cousin, Trent. Just give me the keys.” Fiona instinctively stepped between us. Trent frowned, looking offended. “What is this place? Since when does dealership staff get involved in family business?” Wyatt’s voice yelled from the phone: “Trent, you there? Lydia, stop acting like a child. Give him the keys.” Trent reached across the table toward my key card. I pulled it back, gripping it tightly. His face darkened. “You’re really something, aren’t you? Myra’s health has been terrible lately. She just wanted to get some fresh mountain air, and you’re here playing gatekeeper over a piece of metal.” Before I could answer, two more people entered the showroom. Myra was clad in a pristine white puffer jacket, the hood lined with soft faux fur dusted with rain. Behind her was Wyatt. He must have rushed over; his hair was damp, and his eyes were burning with a quiet, suppressed fury. Seeing me, Myra’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “Lydia, I am so sorry,” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked to borrow the car. But I… I haven’t been out of the city in so long.” Wyatt stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. It was a gesture I had seen a thousand times. Back in college, during club dinners, if she couldn’t handle her drinks, he drank for her. After graduation, when her apartment pipes burst in the middle of the night, he went over to fix them. When her cat went missing, he took a day off work to search the neighborhood with her. Every time I questioned it, he had the same answer: “She grew up without a brother, Lydia. I’m just looking out for her. Don’t be so petty.” And now, he stood between my car and my safety, still protecting her. “Lydia, hand over the keys,” Wyatt demanded, holding out his palm. A draft from the automatic doors blew inside, carrying the scent of wet asphalt. The metallic edge of the key fob dug into my palm. Before I could speak, Myra took a step forward, her tears spilling over her pale cheeks. “Lydia, is this because I sat in the passenger seat during the test drive? I promise I’ll never sit in the front again. I’ll ride in the back.” Wyatt’s face went completely cold. “Look how terrified you’ve made her.” He reached out, his fingers wrapping around mine, forcing my grip open. Fiona quickly called out to the showroom security guard. In the scuffle, Wyatt leaned down, his voice a low, threatening hiss in my ear: “Don’t make me humiliate you in front of these people.” With a harsh tug, he wrenched the key card from my hand. The plastic edge scraped hard against the corner of the desk, and a bead of blood welled up on the back of my hand. Myra let out a soft gasp. Wyatt didn’t even look at my hand. He pocketed the key, turned, and handed it to Myra. “Go wait in the car.” 2. The security guard intercepted Trent at the exit, keeping him from leaving immediately. Wyatt turned back to glare at me, his chest heaving. “Are you really going to call the cops over this? Do you want to make it that dramatic?” “Yes,” I said. “Let’s call them.” The anger on his face stiffened for a fraction of a second. Outside, Myra sat in the passenger seat of my Model Y, watching us through the windshield. The wipers weren’t on, and her face was blurred by the cascading rain. Wyatt let out a dry, mocking laugh. “Lydia, do you honestly think the police care about a domestic dispute between a couple? Yes, you paid for the car, but I set up the software. I’m simply managing the access.” Fiona couldn’t stay silent. “Sir, remote-controlling a vehicle without the primary operator’s consent on an active highway is a direct endangerment to public safety. This is not a domestic dispute.” Wyatt shot her a freezing look. “What do you know? You’re just a sales rep. My company handles smart-integration platforms. I know exactly what the legal boundaries are.” My phone screen lit up. It was my mother. The moment I answered, her voice came crashing through the speaker. “Lydia! Wyatt’s mother just called me. She said you’re threatening to have Wyatt arrested over a car? Have you lost your mind?” My throat felt like it was blocked with dry cotton. Wyatt stood beside me, his arms crossed, a smug sense of victory radiating from him. My mother kept going. “Wyatt is a good man, Lydia. You’re turning thirty next year; you can’t keep throwing these tantrums. It’s normal for a man to have female friends. I’ve met Myra—she’s a sweet, tragic girl. If you push things too far, who else is going to want to marry you?” I stared at the drying blood on my hand, my voice barely audible. “Mom, he locked my car at twelve miles per hour on the interstate. I almost died.” The line went quiet for a few seconds. Then, my father’s gruff voice cut in from the background. “But you didn’t die, did you? Why do you always have to blow small things out of proportion?” Wyatt’s shoulders relaxed. Myra had stepped out of the car again, holding an umbrella. She walked back into the showroom, tilting the canopy so it covered Wyatt, leaving my shoulder exposed to the cold mist blowing in through the entrance. “Mrs. Miller, Mr. Miller, please don’t be mad at Lydia,” Myra sobbed into my phone speaker. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t have a father growing up, so Wyatt has always been extra protective of me. I understand why Lydia would misinterpret things.” My mother’s voice softened instantly. “Oh, Myra, sweetie, don’t cry. Lydia has a stubborn streak. I’ll make sure to talk to her.” Everyone in the showroom was watching me now—the sales reps, the security guard, even a couple of customers who had stopped near the service desk. I stood beside the car I had dreamed about for years, feeling like an intruder who had tried to steal someone else’s happiness. Wyatt reached over and took the phone from my hand. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Miller, I’ll handle it,” he said smoothly. “Lydia has just been under a lot of pressure at work lately.” He knew exactly how to play the dutiful partner, wrapping up my humiliation in a neat bow while driving the blade a little deeper. He hung up and tossed the phone back into my lap. “Satisfied?” he muttered. “Take the exit ramp I’m giving you, Lydia. Myra is taking the car today. The discussion about returning it is over.” Fiona looked at me, her eyes filled with quiet concern. “Lydia, do you want us to proceed with contacting the authorities?” Wyatt immediately rounded on her. “If this dealership calls the police, I will file a formal complaint for a breach of customer privacy. This car’s system profile contains proprietary testing data from my engineering account. If that data is compromised, your store will be liable.” Fiona’s face went pale. The store manager, who had finally noticed the commotion, hurried over and pulled Fiona aside. “Lydia, perhaps you and your partner should discuss this privately at home,” the manager said, polite but clearly eager to sweep the scene under the rug. “A vehicle return of this nature does require a formal inspection process anyway.” Wyatt smiled. He stepped closer, leaning down until his breath brushed my ear. “See? No one is standing in your corner, Lydia. Don’t make yourself look any more pathetic than you already do.” Myra tugged gently at his sleeve. “Wyatt, let’s go. We’re going to hit mountain traffic if we don’t leave now.” Wyatt nodded. But as he tried to step past me, I reached out and blocked him. “You can’t take the car,” I said. He creased his brow. “What now?” I opened my hand. The key card was gone, but tucked between my fingers was a small, laminated paper slip. It was the temporary registration and transit permit the delivery center had just printed for me. “Without this, you’re driving an unregistered vehicle,” I said. “You won’t make it past the first state trooper on the highway.” Wyatt’s expression hardened into stone. Myra’s weeping cut off instantly. Trent lunged forward to grab it, but the security guard blocked him again. In the sudden flurry of movement, Myra suddenly clutched her chest, her knees buckling as she sank to the floor. “Wyatt… I can’t… I can’t breathe…” Wyatt’s face went white. He dropped down and scooped her into his arms. He looked up at me, screaming, “Lydia, are you happy now? If anything happens to her, I swear to God I will make you pay!” Myra clung to his neck, but as he lifted her, her hand darted out and caught the hem of my trench coat. With a sharp, downward yank, she pulled me off balance. My knee slammed hard against the concrete step of the display platform, and I tumbled forward. The temporary registration slip flew from my fingers, landing face-down in a muddy puddle of rainwater near the door. Wyatt stepped forward, his heavy boot coming down directly on the paper, grinding it into the wet grit. He bent down, picked up the muddy, torn slip, and didn’t even cast a backward glance at me as I lay on the floor. “Now we can leave,” he said. The heavy thud of the Tesla doors slamming shut echoed through the glass bay. The red taillights flared like two angry eyes as the car sped out of the lot. Fiona kneeled down to help me up. The rain outside had slowed, but wet mist was still clinging to my skin. “Lydia,” she whispered, “do you need to go to the clinic?” I pushed myself up from the cold floor. My knee was throbbing, a dull, aching heat spreading under my jeans. My phone buzzed again. Wyatt: “Go home. I expect you to have this childish attitude out of your system by tonight.” Immediately after, a notification from my bank popped up. “Authorized User Wyatt: $4,000 charged at Crystal Mountain Lodge.” The payment had been processed using my secondary credit card. 3. I had given Wyatt that secondary card for his mother’s medical expenses. When he had transitioned to his new firm, there was a gap between his pay cycles. His mother had been diagnosed with severe spinal stenosis, and I had spent my weekends driving her to specialist appointments, putting her physical therapy and copays on my card. At the time, Wyatt had held me tight, whispering, “Lydia, once my signing bonus clears, I’ll pay you back every dime.” The bonus had cleared months ago. Instead of paying me back, he had bought Myra a designer ski jacket because “she gets cold so easily in the winter.” Fiona helped me clean the scrape on my knee, then handed me a printed document. “This is our store’s incident report,” she said. “I’ve already saved the security footage from the showroom on a thumb drive. My manager told me not to hand it over privately, but you have every right to request it through formal legal channels.” She leaned in, lowering her voice further. “Lydia, the dashcam in your car has a separate loop-recording function. The footage of what happened on the highway should still be on the local storage card.” I nodded. But the car was gone, and the SD card was inside it. Wyatt knew systems. He knew exactly how to erase a drive. By the time I took an Uber back to the apartment, the rain had stopped, leaving only damp reflections on the pavement. Before I could even finish punching in the keypad code to my door, the sound of laughter drifted through the wood. Myra’s voice carried clearly. “Wyatt, this throw pillow is so cute! Can I take it to the lodge with us?” And Wyatt’s reply: “Take whatever you want.” That pillow was the very first item I had bought for our new home. A cream-colored, woven wool piece with the tags still attached. When the door clicked open, the living room fell dead silent. My car keys were lying carelessly on the coffee table. Myra was sitting in the center of the sofa, wrapped in my favorite cashmere throw. On the balcony, Trent was smoking a cigarette, flicking the ashes directly into the pot of the English ivy my grandmother had given me before she passed. Wyatt walked out of the kitchen holding a mug of steaming ginger tea. Seeing me, his brows knit together. “You’re back,” he said, his tone flat. “Good. Myra got chilled in the rain and has a light fever. Go whip up some soup for her.” “I don’t know how,” I said. Beside the shoe rack sat a pair of muddy snow boots, leaving dirty tracks across the hardwood floor I had spent the previous evening scrubbing. I remained standing at the entryway. Wyatt handed the tea to Myra, refusing to meet my eyes. “Don’t start with the attitude again. You put everyone through hell today. The least you can do is make dinner and apologize.” Myra looked down, clutching the mug. “Wyatt, maybe I should just go. I know Lydia is still angry with me. I don’t want to make things difficult.” She said she wanted to leave, but her fingers tightened around my cashmere throw. Trent stepped in from the balcony, stubbing his cigarette out on the railing. “Why should you leave? The only person who needs to go is the one acting like an unstable child. My cousin is sick, and she hasn’t even gotten a single apology.” Wyatt looked at me. “Lydia. Apologize.” The warm, golden lighting of the apartment made the coldness in their eyes even sharper. “Apologize to whom?” I asked. “To Myra.” “For what? Because she wanted to take my car, because you remotely locked it and nearly got me killed, or because you used my credit card to book her luxury lodging?” Myra’s eyes instantly flooded. “I didn’t know the booking went on your card, Lydia. Wyatt told me it was his personal account.” A brief flicker of embarrassment crossed Wyatt’s face, but he quickly covered it with anger. “The card is in my name as an authorized user. I’ll transfer you the money. Do you really have to bring up finances in front of company? Is that who you are now?” “Company?” I looked at Myra. She immediately lowered her head, looking small and fragile. Wyatt’s voice rose. “Myra isn’t some stranger, Lydia.” “Then what am I?” The question hung in the air, cold and heavy. Wyatt stared at me as if I were a bug he wanted to crush. “Lydia, don’t make me say things we both can’t take back. We’ve been together for seven years. If you don’t even have this basic level of trust in our relationship, then there’s no point in us getting married.” In the past, that threat would have sent a spike of panic through my chest. Now, it just left a dull, aching throb. It wasn’t the pain of a fresh wound, but the exhaustion of an old scar being torn open one too many times. Myra suddenly stood up, her body swaying slightly. “Wyatt… my head is spinning…” Wyatt caught her immediately. “You need to lie down. Go use the master bedroom.” My fingers tightened against the edge of the entryway console. “The master bedroom is my room.” Wyatt groaned in exasperation. “The bed is bigger, and she has a fever. She needs proper rest. You can crash in the study for one night.” Myra whispered, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Wyatt. Lydia will mind.” Trent let out a loud snort. “She minds everything. Does the world revolve around her?” Without another word, Wyatt scooped Myra up and walked straight toward my bedroom. As the door swung open, I caught a glimpse of my nightstand, where my grandmother’s old silver heirloom bracelet lay. It was the most precious thing I owned. As Wyatt carried Myra past me, she leaned her head against his shoulder and murmured softly, “Lydia, Wyatt mentioned you’re a really light sleeper. Please don’t come in and wake me up tonight, okay?” The master bedroom door clicked shut in my face. Trent stepped forward, blocking my path to the hallway. “You heard her. Don’t go looking for trouble.” I looked up at him, my expression blank. A second later, Myra’s delighted gasp echoed from behind the closed door. “Oh, Wyatt, look at this silver bracelet! It’s so beautiful!” 4. Wyatt didn’t come out right away. Instead, the muffled sound of my nightstand drawer scraping open vibrated through the wall. I pushed past Trent. He grabbed my arm, his grip tightening like a vise. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Let go of me,” I said. He didn’t. His fingers dug into the fresh bruise on my forearm. Inside the bedroom, Myra’s soft voice rose again. “Is this Lydia’s? It looks antique.” “Yeah,” Wyatt replied casually. “Some old family heirloom from her grandmother. You like it?” Myra giggled softly. “I just wanted to try it on. It feels so classic. I always wished I had a grandmother who left me things like this.” I wrenched my arm free from Trent’s grip and flung the bedroom door open. It wasn’t locked. Inside, Myra was sliding the solid silver band over her wrist. It was a delicate, hand-carved piece, and as it settled against her arm, it made a soft, metallic clink. The sound made my stomach turn. “Take it off,” I said. Wyatt stood by the bed, his face tightening. “She’s just trying it on, Lydia.” “Take. It. Off.” Myra flinched as if I had struck her, hurriedly trying to tug the silver band back over her hand. But her wrist joint was wider than the opening, and the metal caught on her bone. Tears instantly welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry… it’s stuck. I can’t get it off.” Wyatt grabbed her hand gently. “Don’t force it. You’ll bruise yourself.” He spoke to her with such tender care—care he hadn’t shown for my scraped knee or my bleeding hand. I walked over to the dresser. Wyatt stepped in front of me, his chest puffed out. “Lydia, stop acting like a lunatic.” “That belonged to my grandmother.” “I know,” he said, his tone dripping with dismissive boredom. “I’ll take her to a jeweler tomorrow to have it cut off safely if we have to. I’ll pay for the repair.” Myra shook her head, sobbing. “No, we can’t do that tomorrow. We have to leave for the slopes early.” Trent leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “It’s a cheap piece of silver. How much could it possibly be worth? Myra’s skin is turning red, and all you care about is some old metal.” I walked past them to the master bathroom and grabbed a bottle of liquid soap. Wyatt seemed to take this as a sign of submission, his shoulders dropping slightly. “That’s better. You’re not a bad person, Lydia. You’re just way too sensitive.” As I poured the soap over Myra’s wrist, her cries grew louder. She shrank back, burying her face in Wyatt’s chest as if she were being tortured. It took ten agonizing minutes of pulling and maneuvering before the bracelet finally slipped free. The polished silver face now bore a deep, ugly scratch where it had scraped against her bone. I wiped the soap off with a tissue and clutched the cold metal in my palm. Myra sniffled, her nose red. “Lydia, I’m so sorry. I can buy you a new one to make up for it.” I looked at her. “You can’t replace this.” Wyatt’s face fell into a deep scowl. “Enough. She apologized. What more do you want?” Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime call from Wyatt’s mother. He swiped to answer, and the camera instantly captured the disarray of my bedroom. Seeing Myra’s tear-stained face, his mother’s voice shrilled through the speaker. “Lydia, are you bullying Myra again?” “Mrs. Miller, no, it’s not her fault,” Myra sobbed into the screen. “I accidentally put on Lydia’s bracelet, and it got stuck.” Wyatt’s mother let out a sharp, disgusted snort. “I thought it was some priceless diamond the way you’re acting. Once you’re married, everything in that household is shared property anyway. What’s the big deal about someone touching a bracelet?” My fingers tightened around the silver band until the edges bit into my skin. His mother continued her lecture. “Wyatt works so hard, and Myra is a sweet girl who knows how to help him unwind. If you actually want to marry into our family, Lydia, you need to learn to be generous.” Down the hall, in the study, sat a box of custom wedding invitations I had spent weeks designing. I had paid the venue deposits. I had booked the photographer. I had paid half of the apartment’s rent and security deposit. His family had told me that since Wyatt was transitioning careers, we should keep things simple and that I should handle the upfront costs. They said I should be patient. And now, even my grandmother’s heirloom was considered “shared property.” “Mrs. Miller,” I said, my voice quiet but perfectly clear. “The wedding is off.” The screen went dead silent. Wyatt snapped his head up, his eyes widening in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

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