My pride and joy is my dream automobile. My wife deems it “a waste of garage space.”
Last week, she casually suggested selling it for her brother’s wedding. I stopped it instantly.
My automobile was gone when I got home yesterday. Smiled, she continued, “You’ll thank me later.”
After getting my replacement keys, I ran outside but nothing started.
She produced a check. “It’s sold,” she said. At a wonderful price.”
She seemed proud. I stood there staring at her.
I don’t know what I felt—rage, disbelief, despair, or all of them. That Mustang was more than a car. Memory and legacy of my uncle. He knew I loved it and left it to me. It was gone instantly because my wife thought it was ‘for the best.’
You did what? Despite shaking, I said.
Rolling her eyes. “A car. We have money for something vital. They needed something for my brother’s wedding next month.”
Clenched fists. That was my automobile. You deserved nothing.”
“It was just sitting there!” she replied. “I did what had to be done because I knew you’d never agree.”
Feeling my pulse in my ears. where is it?
She crossed arms. “Alan bought it. Cash deal.”
“Give me the number.”
She sneered. It’s done. Just proceed.”
I said nothing. I rushed upstairs, grabbed my phone, and searched for local classic automobile buyers. After two hours and dozens of calls, I reached Alan, who bought a ’67 Mustang.
I told him, “I didn’t authorize that sale. It was sold by my wife without my knowledge. Uncle gave me the car; I need it back.”
A sigh followed stillness on the line. “Damn. That hurts, man. I bought it honestly, but I’m not cold. Meet me tomorrow to talk.”
I was relieved. Just maybe, I can repair this.
I drove to a little car shop outside town the next morning. Alan was middle-aged with oil-stained hands and a tough face. He took me back, where my Mustang shone beneath the shop lights.
“Hell of a car,” Alan replied, touching the hood. “I understand your anger.”
Swallowed the lump in my throat. “I need it back.”
Alan rubbed his jaw and breathed. Yes, I paid well.
“I’ll buy it back,” I said confidently. “Whatever it takes.”
Alan nodded after staring at me. “Alright. Selling it back for what I paid.”
I nearly collapsed in relief. Then I remembered—I was broke. My wife had the check.
I hesitated and said, “Can you hold onto it? A day or two?”
Alan’s face clouded. “I don’t hold.”
Heart plummeted. “Please. Just give me time.”
He groaned and looked at me intently. I’ll give you 24 hours.”
I drove home with white-knuckled grips on the wheel. I found my wife on the couch, looking through her phone, unaffected.
I faced her. “I need that check.”
Little did she look up. What for?
“Repurchase my car.”
She chuckled. You’re kidding, right? I gave some to my brother.”
COLD anger settled in my chest. “That wasn’t your money.”
“Oh, grow up,” she fumed. “For family.”
Shaking my head. “This was for you and your desires. You ignored my feelings. You decided.”
She shrugged. “I did what was needed.”
I inhaled slowly. “Then I will.”
Flipping on my laptop, I transferred money from our savings. I drained my account, asked a buddy for help, and scraped together enough.
When I left, she called, “If you do this, don’t expect me to be here when you get back.”
Not even turning around.
Twenty-three hours later, I had cash at Alan’s shop.
He counted, nodded, and gave me the keys.
I felt calm as I took the wheel. It wasn’t just the automobile. It was respect. About limits. When something or someone isn’t right for you.
I entered my driveway to find a dark house. Inside, half her stuff was gone. A message on the kitchen counter read: You picked the automobile over us. Avoid calling me.
After a lengthy stare, I crumpled it in my fist.
I wasn’t sad. Clarity.
She never hated the automobile. Not really. She was upset I was uncontrollable. That I wouldn’t submit to her decisions. Perhaps our marriage was better if that was what it became.
After returning outdoors, I ran my palm over the Mustang’s hood and smiled for the first time in days.
Some things are replaceable.
Some aren’t.
Someone doesn’t respect you if they don’t appreciate your values.
You should never sell that.
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