All Maggie wanted was a quiet Christmas — but when her ex-husband “helpfully” offers to fill her propane tanks, everything spirals. A lost debit card, non-stop calls, and a gas pump that eats her credit card push her to the edge. Stranded and furious, Maggie faces a choice she should have made years ago: rescue him again or finally save herself.
The air bit at my face, and I tugged my coat tighter, squinting at the trailer’s frost-covered window. The world outside looked peaceful — clear skies, fresh snow, stillness everywhere. But stillness is a liar. Stillness hides cracks.
Inside the trailer, it was quiet in that suffocating way only an empty house can be. I had a space heater that pretended to work and a couch that might have been comfortable in 1992. Six months since the fire took everything, and somehow, this was what I’d “rebuilt.” A few cheap chairs. A scratched-up coffee table. Too much quiet. Just enough of everything to get by.
“Mags, you rolling that crust or beating it to death?” Tina’s voice called from the kitchen.
I shot her a look over my shoulder, one hand still gripping the rolling pin. “If it gives me attitude, I might do both.”
Tina laughed, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her kitchen smelled like butter and brown sugar, warm and thick like a hug. The kind of smell that makes you believe in magic. I wished I could bottle it, bring it back to my trailer, and open it on bad days.
“Party starts at six,” she reminded me. “Don’t stay here too long.”
“I’m not showing up empty-handed,” I said, pressing the dough flat with the heel of my hand. “I’m not that person.”
“You’re not a lot of things, Maggie Wade, but stubborn is definitely on the list.”
Before I could shoot back, my phone buzzed on the counter. It buzzed twice — not a text, but a call. And just like that, all the warmth and sugar turned to lead in my chest.
GAVIN WADE (Incoming Call).
“Don’t,” Tina warned from the sink. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t have to.
“I’ll handle it,” I muttered, snatching up the phone.
“What?” I answered flatly.
“Hey, Mags,” Gavin’s voice oozed through the line like it had a smirk on it. “I’m out by Monroe’s Propane and figured I’d do you a favor. Fill up your tanks.”
I closed my eyes. Deep breath. “And you want my debit card.”
“Don’t say it like that,” he chuckled. “I’m just being helpful.”
Tina glanced at me, eyebrows raised so high they might’ve touched her hairline.
“Fine,” I said, rubbing my temple. “Keys are on the hook by the door. Card’s in the side pocket.”
“Always knew you were the smart one,” Gavin cooed. I hung up before he could get another word in.
Tina didn’t say anything, but her eyes said it all. I know, I know, I thought. I should’ve known better.
A Man Who Needs Saving (Again)
Two hours later, I was scrubbing the counter like I was trying to erase it from existence. Tina had already left for the party, and the house was dead quiet. The only sounds were the slow crackle of the oven and the steady thrum of the thoughts I couldn’t get rid of.
I flipped my phone over to check it.
15 Missed Calls: GAVIN WADE.
I felt my teeth grind before I even picked it up. I swiped to answer, pressing it hard to my ear.
“What.”
“Bad news,” Gavin said, stretching the words like he had all the time in the world. “I lost your card.”
I stared at the kitchen wall, my vision narrowing into pinpricks. “You lost it?”
“Somewhere near the pump,” he said, real casual. “They won’t let me leave without paying.”
“Then sit,” I snapped. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“C’mon, Mags, don’t be like that. Just give me your credit card number. I’ll be out in two minutes, I swear.”
I squeezed my eyes shut so tight I saw stars. “Add it to Google Pay.”
“You know I don’t do that digital crap,” he groaned. “Just give me the numbers, babe.”
“Stop calling me ‘babe,’ Gavin.”
“Alright, alright,” he said. “Just help me out.”
I hated him. I hated him more in that moment than I had in the last five years combined. But I rattled off the numbers. Because I knew if I didn’t, the calls wouldn’t stop.
The Drive To Save A Man Who Doesn’t Deserve It
By 7 p.m., I’d had enough. The phone had been lighting up with text after text. Gavin’s newest was “They’re threatening to call the cops. Come now.”
Josie and Luke? Ghosts.
Luke finally replied, “In Amsterdam. Can’t help you.”
I didn’t even bother texting back. My kids had figured it out before I did — if Gavin was calling, it wasn’t your problem.
I stared at Tina’s boyfriend’s pickup truck. Manual transmission. I’d driven stick twice in my life, both times disasters. But I had no choice.
The truck stalled three times before I got it going. The gas light flickered on, of course. I drove to the station and pulled up to the pump, grabbed my card, and slid it in. It didn’t come out.
No error message. No decline. The pump just ate it.
“Are you kidding me?” I banged my fist on the machine. “Are you—”
Bam. Bam. Bam.
I pounded on the pump until my hand stung. I bent down, prying at the slot with my nails, tears hot in my eyes. It wasn’t about the card. It was about all of it. The fire. The trailer. The cold. Gavin.
Finally, the card slipped free, and I fell backward onto the frozen ground. The “TAP TO PAY” symbol blinked at me like it was mocking me. I sat there for a moment, laughing into my hands like a crazy person.
No More Playing Nice
When I pulled into the propane station, there he was. Gavin. In my car, eating my snacks, with my music blasting from the radio.
I walked toward him slow and steady. No rush. No anger. Just quiet.
He rolled the window down, tossing a pretzel in his mouth. “Took you long enough.”
“Here,” I said, holding out the credit card.
He blinked. “What’s this?”
“Go pay.”
He eyed me, confused. But he got out of the car, chip bag still in his hand, and walked inside. I watched him walk. Watched his swagger. And for the first time, I saw him.
Not the man I loved. Not the man I “could fix.” I saw him as he was. Just a man who liked to watch me burn.
The Block Button
When Gavin came back, he tossed the keys toward me like he was tossing bones to a dog.
“All set,” he said, smirking. “You’re welcome.”
“Cool,” I said, tossing him the pickup keys. “You drive it.”
He frowned. “You don’t drive stick.”
I smiled, all teeth. “Guess tonight’s a night for learning.”
He watched me, his grin cracking just a little. But he climbed into the truck. Thought he won something.
I got in my car and waited for him to pull away. Then I reached for my phone and opened the banking app.
Report Card Stolen? YES.
Send Replacement? YES.
When I saw the green check mark, I took my first deep breath of the night.
No More Saving Gavin
Six miles from home, the car sputtered. The gas gauge was on E, of course.
I let my head fall against the steering wheel. My fingers curled tight against it. I sat there for a moment, breathing slow and deep. I reached into the passenger seat, grabbed one of the pies, peeled back the foil, and scooped out a handful with my bare hand.
Sticky, sweet. Pecans and sugar. I tasted it slowly, like it was my last meal on earth.
I smiled.
Last Call
When I finally got home, Gavin had texted.
“Where are you? I’m locked out. Bring my jacket.”
I deleted it.
Then I blocked him.
“Not next year,” I whispered. “Not ever again.”
I sat by the window, watching snow fall. The quiet wasn’t heavy anymore. It was mine. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let it stay that way.
Still. Quiet. Free.
