On a quiet, sunlit road, a car cruised along, its tires humming softly against the pavement. Inside, behind the wheel, was Chandler, his usual cheerful expression in place. He tapped the steering wheel with his fingers, his other hand scrolling through his playlist. The golden sunlight bathed his face, making his smile even warmer.
Next to him sat Macy, arms crossed, gaze fixed firmly outside the window. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her posture stiff. She looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but here.
Chandler, sensing the tension, finally found a song and hit play. The familiar melody of “Take Me Home, Country Roads” filled the car. His face lit up, and he turned to Macy with hopeful eyes.
“Almost heaven…” he sang, nodding toward her, encouraging her to join in.
Macy didn’t budge. She stared at the trees whizzing past, her expression set in stone.
Not one to give up easily, Chandler turned up the volume a little and sang louder, his voice warm and inviting.
“Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong…”
Macy clenched her jaw, pressing herself further into the door, as if trying to escape the song itself.
“Turn it down,” she muttered, barely audible over the music.
Chandler, still trying to lighten the mood, pretended not to hear her. Instead, he belted out the next line even louder.
That was the last straw.
With a swift, frustrated motion, Macy reached over and turned off the player. The car was suddenly silent, the only sound the faint rumble of the engine. The tension inside the car thickened.
Chandler sighed. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”
“It’s not you,” Macy said, her voice tight. “I’m just not in the mood for songs. You know why.”
Chandler sighed, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Because of my mom, right? It’s just for the weekend, dear…”
Macy let out a humorless laugh. “She hates me. She always finds something wrong with me. Either I cook wrong, clean wrong, talk wrong, look wrong… I can’t even breathe without hearing that something’s wrong with me.”
“I know,” Chandler admitted, stealing a glance at her. “I have no idea why she’s picking on you like that. But it’s only for this weekend. I promise, I’ll talk to her.”
Macy shook her head. “No need. The last thing I need is for her to know I’m complaining about her. Let her do what she wants. I just wonder why she does it.”
Chandler was quiet for a moment before saying softly, “We can’t change the direction of the wind…”
Macy sighed. “But we can adjust the sails,” she finished for him.
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She pressed play again, and the song resumed.
“Country road! Take me hoooome,” they sang together, Chandler with full enthusiasm, Macy with a quieter, hesitant voice.
The moment was small, but it lightened the weight on her chest just a little.
As they pulled up to Linda’s house, Macy immediately noticed the unkempt lawn and overgrown bushes. The weeds poking through the walkway cracks seemed to mock her.
“I’ve offered so many times to hire someone to take care of this for her,” Macy muttered, shaking her head.
“You know her,” Chandler said. “She doesn’t like it when someone helps her.”
Macy rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, everything herself. That’s our Linda.”
“Don’t mock her,” Chandler said gently. “She’s still my mom.”
Macy sighed, softening. “I know. It’s just that she’s all alone here.”
Chandler squeezed her hand. “You mean well. Over time, everything will change.”
Before Macy could respond, the front door swung open, and Linda stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Chandler, what took you so long? The food is getting cold. Come in quickly!” she called, her voice brisk but welcoming.
“Hi, Mom,” Chandler greeted, waving.
Macy forced a polite smile. “Hello, Linda.”
Linda’s eyes flickered over Macy, assessing her in one sweeping glance. “And you came?” she said in a half-tone. “Welcome.”
Macy bit the inside of her cheek.
Inside, the dining table was set with Linda’s finest china, the air thick with the savory aroma of stew. Chandler and Macy sat down, but the tension crackled like static electricity between the two women.
Chandler tried to break the ice. “Mom, the stew is delicious, just like in childhood!”
Linda’s face softened slightly. “I know how much you love it, son. Eat up. You probably don’t get fed like this at home.”
Macy clenched her teeth, the words hitting like a slap. Chandler quickly stepped in. “Mom, Macy cooks wonderfully.”
Linda simply scoffed, reaching out to wipe a stain off Chandler’s shirt. “And she also takes great care of your clothes.”
That was it.
Macy stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. “I’m not very hungry,” she muttered and walked into the kitchen, where she began scrubbing the dishes with more force than necessary.
Chandler turned to his mother, his voice firm. “Mom, you’re always hurting her. She’s my wife. You can’t talk to her like that.”
Linda huffed. “And I’m your mother. I’m just telling the truth.”
In the kitchen, Macy heard every word. Her patience snapped. She stormed back into the dining room.
“Great! So we’re telling the truth now?” she said, her voice shaking with anger.
Linda’s eyes widened in shock.
“You find every flaw in me, but look at your own house! That lawn is a jungle! You’re bitter, and you take it out on everyone else!” Macy’s words sliced through the air.
Linda’s face paled. Chandler jumped up. “Enough! Stop it, both of you!”
Tears welled in Linda’s eyes. Macy stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
That night, Macy found old letters in her late father’s attic. Letters from Linda. Letters filled with love, unanswered pleas, and a heartbreak that had never healed.
It all made sense now.
Macy returned to Linda’s house, walked up to her, and without a word, hugged her.
“Forgive me,” Macy whispered. “And forgive my father.”
Linda softened. And just like that, the conflict melted, making way for something new—understanding.
