The rain drummed steadily against the wind-shield, the rhythmic slap of wipers barely keeping pace with the downpour. Heather exhaled sharply, her hands gripping the wheel as she squinted through the streaked glass. The glow of headlights from the occasional passing car cast fleeting halos on the slick pavement, but the road ahead was dark, winding, and treacherous.
It had been a long day. The kind that seemed to stretch into eternity, filled with errands, work emails she barely had time to skim, and the dull ache of a tension headache that had set in sometime around lunch. But the worst part—the part that sat like a rock in her stomach—was the text from her husband. He’d had to leave work early to handle something at their son’s school. Something Heather was supposed to take care of, but had completely forgotten.
The car smelled faintly of fast food, and she grimaced at the crumpled take-out bag in the passenger seat. She wasn’t even hungry. She’d grabbed it more out of guilt than anything else, an unspoken peace offering for the conversation she knew was coming.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness that had settled into her neck. Just a few more miles. Then she could face whatever lecture was waiting for her, apologise, and—hopefully—move on.
A pair of headlights emerged in the distance, cutting through the curtain of rain. She barely paid them any mind. Another car on the road, same as her, trying to get home in this miserable weather.
The intersection was coming up fast. Heather knew it well—no traffic lights, just a stop sign that most people barely acknowledged. She glanced ahead, her fingers tightening on the wheel. The other car wasn’t slowing down.
Her heart lurched as she slammed her foot against the brake, tires skidding slightly on the rain-slick road. The other vehicle blew past, missing her by what felt like inches. For a moment, all she could hear was the rapid pounding of her pulse, the wipers screeching uselessly against the glass. Her wide-eyed gaze locked onto the silhouette of the other driver—brunette, furious, gesturing wildly.
The anger hit her all at once, sharp and hot. Heather threw the car into park, yanked off her seatbelt, and shoved open the door.
The rain swallowed her whole.
Stephanie sighed as she adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. She could feel the tension in her fingers, a dull ache from holding on too tight. It had been one thing after another today—a meeting that ran long, a call from school about some nonsense with her son, and a grocery trip that had left her wallet lighter and her patience thinner.
The rain made everything worse. The constant white noise of it against the roof, the way her wipers groaned as they fought to keep up, and the damn glare of the road signs barely visible in the gloom.
She just wanted to be home.
A set of headlights flickered ahead at the approaching intersection, and she furrowed her brow. Visibility was shit, but she was pretty sure she had the right of way. She wasn’t about to slam on the brakes—not when she was this close to calling it a night.
The other car kept moving.
So did she.
The near miss was instant and electric. The shriek of brakes, the sudden jolt in her chest as adrenaline flooded her veins. Through the blur of rain and headlights, she could just make out the other driver—blonde, wide-eyed, mouth forming words Stephanie couldn’t hear but could damn well guess.
Stephanie’s own pulse pounded in her ears as she threw the car into park.
Then, without really thinking, she unbuckled her seatbelt and shoved open the door.
The rain swallowed her whole.
Heather stepped out, the downpour instantly soaking through her blouse. She barely noticed. Her attention was locked on the woman climbing out of the other car. A brunette, close to her age, though it was hard to tell with the way the rain blurred the details. Even through the gloom, Heather could see the scowl, the squared shoulders, the silent accusation.
And the way she looked—dishevelled, tired, carrying that unmistakable extra weight around her midsection — the kind that came from stress-eating between responsibilities and skipping workouts because there was never enough time. She scoffed internally, judging the woman’s slightly sagging posture and rain-matted hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail, dark circles under her eyes, clothes that looked practical rather than flattering. Heather’s lips curled slightly. Of course, the type who would drive like a maniac looked exactly like this—someone who had let herself go.
Meanwhile, Stephanie blinked raindrops from her lashes, sizing up the blonde standing across from her. One of those loose-fitting blouses meant to hide the fact that her waistline was a thing of the past. Frizzy hair, faintly smudged mascara, a sluggishness in her stance—like she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years. The kind of woman who still thought she was put-together when, in reality, she was one bad day away from falling apart. And clearly, based on her reckless driving, she’d already had that day.
Each woman saw the worst version of herself reflected in the other, though neither recognised it. To Heather, Stephanie was an unkempt disaster with no self-respect. To Stephanie, Heather was a deluded mess who didn’t even realise she’d given up. Both judged. Both seethed. Each convincing herself that she was the one who still had standards.
The tension between them crackled like static in the air. The rain continued to fall, but neither woman moved to wipe the water from their faces. Instead, they just stood there, breathing heavily, staring at each other, their chests rising and falling with barely contained rage.
"Are you blind?!" Heather shouted, stepping forward. "You almost ploughed right into me!"
"Oh, give me a break!" Stephanie shot back, jabbing a finger toward Heather’s car. "I had the right of way—you weren’t even paying attention!"
Heather let out a sharp, humourless laugh. "Right, because barrelling through an intersection in a downpour is totally reasonable! What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Oh, I’m sorry, are we pretending you didn’t do the exact same thing?" Stephanie folded her arms, rain dripping from her sleeves. "Maybe if you weren’t too busy stuffing your face with fast food, you’d actually know how to drive."
Heather’s nostrils flared. "Excuse me? At least I’m not some reckless idiot who thinks everyone else should just get out of her way!"
"You weren’t even looking!" Stephanie snapped. "You—"
"Neither were you!" Heather cut in, stepping closer. "So what, you think this is my fault? Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one who nearly killed us both!"
Stephanie clenched her fists, her jaw tight. The words burned in her throat, the sheer unfairness of it all fuelling her rage.
A heavy silence settled between them, filled only by the sound of raindrops pelting the pavement. As if an unspoken agreement had been reached between them Heather reached up and yanked her earrings free, tossing them onto the roof of her car. Stephanie’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk as she did the same. Necklaces followed, then bracelets, each motion deliberate, slow, ritualistic. The only thing left were the wedding bands—too tight, too much a part of them to be removed.
Then, at the exact same moment, they lunged.
They crashed together.
Neither led with a proper punch, not really. It was more like a flailing collision, bodies slamming against each other as hands clawed and scrambled for purchase. Stephanie’s fingers curled into Heather’s damp hair, wrenching her head sideways with a sharp yank. Heather gasped, her own hands fumbling before finding Stephanie’s soaked ponytail, yanking it downward with all her weight.
Their grips were sloppy but cruel. Rain-slicked strands slipped through their fingers, but they held on, twisting and pulling with vicious jerks that sent sharp stabs of pain through their scalps. Their footing was uncertain, shoes skidding on the wet asphalt as they struggled against each other, teeth clenched, growls of frustration escaping between laboured breaths.
Stephanie lashed out first, a blind swipe meant to slap or scratch—she wasn’t sure which. Her palm struck Heather’s cheek, the impact softened by the rain, but her nails caught just enough skin to leave a faint burning streak behind. Heather recoiled, but only for a second. Snarling, she swung back, her knuckles catching the side of Stephanie’s jaw—not a full punch, but enough to make Stephanie’s head snap to the side.
For a moment, she blinked through the shock of it.
Then, with a furious cry, she shoved Heather—hard.
Heather stumbled back, boots slipping on the rain-slicked pavement, but she didn’t go down. She caught herself, barely, her heel scraping against the edge of a forming puddle. Fury twisted her face as she lunged again, this time throwing a wild, clumsy punch at Stephanie’s shoulder. It landed with an awkward thud, more a shove than a strike, but it knocked Stephanie off balance, sending her skidding sideways.
The road was working against them. Neither could plant their feet properly, neither had the coordination to control the fight. They were both too stiff, too unpractised. Their movements were jerky, their attacks telegraphed but still somehow unpredictable in their wildness.
A fresh surge of anger propelled Stephanie forward. She grabbed for Heather again, nails raking across Heather’s forearm before she latched onto her sleeve. Heather, yelping, responded in kind, both of them gripping at each other’s rain-soaked clothes, twisting fabric, wrenching arms.
Another hard yank, another awkward stumble. They nearly lost their balance together, staggering as their bodies knocked against one another. Their faces were close now, almost nose-to-nose, rainwater dripping from their brows, breath warm despite the cold.
Stephanie bared her teeth. “You crazy—”
Then, tangled together, they tumbled off the road
The wet pavement gave way beneath them as they staggered back, their shoes losing grip completely. The embankment was steep and slick with mud, and gravity yanked them downward. They crashed through the undergrowth, hands flailing, limbs catching on brambles and exposed roots. The rain-soaked earth sucked at their bodies, adding weight to their struggle as they rolled and fought for control even as they fell
Heather hit the ground first, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. Stephanie came down half a second later, landing awkwardly on Heather’s side, their bodies wrenching apart only to scramble and collide again. Mud coated their clothes instantly, soaking through fabric and making every movement sluggish, but neither stopped. Hands sought purchase, fingers digging into shoulders, arms, anything they could grip
Heather twisted, trying to shove Stephanie off, but Stephanie pressed down, using her weight to pin her. The brunette managed to secure an unsteady mount and throw a few punches at the pinned woman, one hitting her nose clean causing a steady stream of blood to flow, the others awkwardly glancing off the blondes cheekbones without doing any real damage. “Had enough Bitch ?!” Stephanie demanded. Heather bucked wildly, heels digging into the mud, slipping, sliding—until she managed to twist just enough to roll them over, reversing their positions. Now it was Stephanie’s back against the soaked ground, her breath leaving her in a sharp grunt
Snarling, Stephanie lashed out, legs kicking, feet slipping uselessly in the mud. Heather grabbed at her wrists, trying to control her flailing, but Stephanie’s fingers clawed at her forearm, nails dragging red welts in the rain-dampened skin. Heather hissed in pain, yanking back, but not before Stephanie twisted her hips, knocking Heather sideways again
They rolled, fighting for dominance, their bodies dragging through sodden leaves and snapped twigs. The embankment wasn’t far, but they had no control over their direction. Rain streamed down their faces, mixing with sweat and mud, their breaths coming in ragged, angry gasps. Every time one gained an inch, the other wrestled it back, their limbs tangled, their muscles screaming
Then, with a sudden lurch, they hit a cluster of thorny brambles. The pain was instant and shocking—tiny barbs biting into their exposed skin, snagging their clothes, their hair. Both women shrieked, their struggle momentarily forgotten as they jerked back, trying to untangle themselves. But the mud gave them no leverage, and each movement only pulled them further into the grasp of the thorny vines
For a fraction of a second, they stilled, panting, eyes locking in silent hatred. Then Heather, snarling through gritted teeth, pushed Stephanie’s face into the brambles. Grinding her cheek into the thorns.
Stephanie howled, thrashing wildly as the thorns raked across her cheek, tiny scratches stinging against her rain-soaked skin. She wrenched her head back with a furious cry, her free hand swiping blindly, nails digging into Heather’s forearm in retaliation. Heather flinched but didn’t let go immediately, pressing down just a moment longer before Stephanie managed to twist away.
As they struggled apart, their blouses, already stretched and soaked, began to tear. Fabric ripped as they clawed at each other, sleeves dangling in tatters, exposing raw scratches along their arms and shoulders. Their breath came in ragged gasps, both of them muddy, battered, and furious, Stephanie’s cheek burned where the thorns had scraped it, a sharp contrast to the dull ache spreading through her ribs. Heather’s arms throbbed from the constant clawing, red welts decorating her forearms, blood still dripping from her nose. Both of them were bruised, battered, and breathless, their bodies weighed down by mud, but yet neither was willing to stop.
Tearing free of the thorns, they lurched apart, slipping as they tried to scramble to their feet. But the mud betrayed them, sucking at their limbs, sending them sprawling again. Their hands grasped blindly at whatever they could reach—hair, fabric, skin—dragging each other back down into the sodden battlefield. The struggle became even more desperate, their movements growing animalistic, fingers clawing at faces, nails raking through mud-caked skin.
Stephanie, in sheer frustration, twisted her head and sank her teeth into Heather’s shoulder.
Heather let out a strangled cry, jerking away, her elbow slamming back into Stephanie’s ribs. The force knocked the wind from Stephanie’s lungs, sending her rolling sideways, coughing.
Heather forced herself up first.
Her limbs felt like they were moving through sludge, her muscles trembling with exhaustion, but she refused to let herself stay down. Mud dripped from her torn blouse, her breath rasping in her chest as she planted a shaky hand on the soaked ground and pushed herself upright. Every inch felt like a battle, but she made it, staggering to her feet, rain streaming down her face.
Stephanie groaned, still tangled in the undergrowth. Heather swayed, barely able to keep herself steady, but she knew she had to press her advantage. She raised a foot, aiming a clumsy stomp at Stephanie’s side—not a precise strike, just an act of pure, animalistic instinct.
Stephanie twisted at the last second. Heather’s boot grazed her ribs instead of striking cleanly, and in the next breath, Stephanie’s hands shot out, grabbing Heather’s leg with both arms.
Heather shrieked as she lost balance.
With a violent yank, Stephanie dragged her down again, sending her sprawling into the mud with a wet splatter. The impact jarred her bones, a fresh surge of pain shooting through her back and shoulders. Before Stephanie could take advantage, Heather kicked out blindly, her heel catching Stephanie’s thigh hard enough to send a jolt through both of them.
Gasping, Stephanie crawled forward, using her momentum to claw her way up Heather’s body. Heather flailed, trying to shove her back, their movements were sluggish, their arms like lead. Slowly the brunette managed to secure another mount, burying her hands in Heather’s blonde tresses she slammed her head into the mud. Once, twice, thrice. Heather’s heels dug into the mud as she bucked wildly she managed to twist her right arm free from beneath Stephanie’s knee and throw a retaliatory punch. Her knuckles connected awkwardly with the brunette’s chin sending a shock wave through her own arm but snapped Stephanie’s head back and caused her to fall to the ground.
For a brief moment that seems to stretch on forever the women lied next to each other in the mud, greedily sucking down air.
Then, finally, Stephanie lurched to her feet.
Heather wasn’t far behind.
They swayed, both barely standing, their bodies aching, their breath ragged. The storm had turned the roadside into a battlefield, the mud sucking at their legs, their clothes hanging off them in tatters. Stephanie wiped a streak of grime from her face with the back of her hand, eyes burning with hatred as she met Heather’s glare.
Heather struck first.
She didn’t think. She just swung.
Her fist crashed into Stephanie’s shoulder, sending a jolt of pain up her own arm. Stephanie reeled slightly but caught herself, sucking in a sharp breath before throwing a punch of her own—this one landing solidly against Heather’s jaw.
Heather grunted, her head whipping sideways, droplets of blood and rainwater flying. A sharp sting bloomed across her lip, followed by the unmistakable warmth of fresh blood trickling down her chin. The punch had split her lip cleanly, the coppery taste filling her mouth—but she didn’t go down.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then they lunged again.
It wasn’t like the first exchange. There was no wild, frantic energy left—just exhaustion, desperation, and the sheer refusal to lose. Their swings were slower now, but each one landed with more force, every hit shaking them to their core. They staggered back and forth, throwing fists, clawing at whatever they could reach, too drained to block, too stubborn to stop.
They swayed, barely standing, the rain drumming against them as they staggered toward the cars. Neither had the strength for precision any more—each swing was sluggish but heavy, each shove met with an equally clumsy counter. The mud pulled at their feet, dragging them down, making every motion harder.
Then, one of them slipped.
A foot skidded in a puddle, balance lost in an instant. The other lunged, seising the moment—not thought-out, not deliberate, just instinct taking over. A desperate grab, a forceful slam, and suddenly a head cracked against the cold, wet metal of a car door leaving behind a sizeable dent.
The impact was jarring. The rain swallowed the sharp gasp that followed. One woman collapsed, her body slumping against the vehicle before sliding down, the fight leaving her limbs all at once. The other stood there, panting, swaying on unsteady legs, mud and sweat streaking down her face as the reality of it settled in.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then, the standing woman took a step back, staggering. She wiped at her face, flinching as her fingers brushed a swelling bruise. Slowly, her gaze dropped to the other—watching, waiting, making sure she wasn’t about to rise again.
Only when it was clear the fight was over did she move.
Her body ached, every muscle screaming in protest, but a deeper satisfaction burned beneath the pain. She forced herself forward, breath ragged, legs trembling but steady with purpose.
Rain hammered against the car roof as she reached out—not to steady herself, not to open the door, but to claim what was hers. Her fingers closed around the scattered pile of earrings, necklaces, and bracelets, her hard-won spoils. A shuddering breath escaped her as she clutched them tight, the cool metal pressing into her skin, solid proof of her victory.
The wind howled around her, but she barely noticed. Straightening as much as her battered body allowed, she turned and staggered to her own car. Each step was an effort, but her grip on the jewellery never loosened.
Reaching her vehicle, she reclaimed her own scattered pieces before wrenching the door open. Collapsing into the seat, she took a long, steadying breath. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, she fastened the bracelets around her wrists, and with a smirk of quiet satisfaction, replaced her earrings with the newly won pair.
The storm raged outside as she gripped the wheel, the weight of exhaustion settling over her—but it didn’t matter.
She had won.
With one final glance at the crumpled figure left behind, she set the car in gear and drove off.
The house was warm. Too warm. The contrast to the rain-soaked cold outside made Stephanie’s skin prickle as she stepped inside, her muddied boots leaving faint tracks across the entryway tile. She barely noticed.
Her husband did.
He looked up from where he sat on the couch, his phone in hand, eyes narrowing at the sight of her. “What the hell happened?” His voice wasn’t panicked, but there was an edge of concern beneath it. His gaze swept over her—her torn blouse, the darkening bruise along her jaw, the dried mud clinging to her arms.
Stephanie let out a breath, exasperated. “Some lunatic.” She peeled off her coat, wincing as the motion tugged at sore muscles. “Absolute psycho. Nearly ran me off the road, then had the nerve to get in my face about it.”
He was already moving, grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink. “She did that?” he asked, gesturing toward the mess of scratches along her forearm, the angry red lines marring her cheek.
“She grabbed me first,” Stephanie huffed, lifting her chin as he took her arm, inspecting the worst of the damage. He shook his head, but there was no real judgment there—just familiarity, the kind that came from years of knowing exactly who she was.
“You got into a fight,” he said, not quite a question.
She scoffed. “I wasn’t going to just stand there and take it.”
His lips twitched, and he dabbed at a particularly nasty scratch with disinfectant. Stephanie hissed through her teeth, but he didn’t apologise, just kept working. “You’re telling me some random woman just attacked you in the middle of the street?”
Stephanie turned on the sink, letting the water run warm before scrubbing at the mud on her hands. “I told you—she came at me first.” The memory burned hot in her mind, the indignation flaring anew. “What was I supposed to do? Let her drag me around by the hair?”
His lips pressed into a thin line as he wiped dried blood from her knuckles. “She must’ve looked worse,” he murmured.
Stephanie smirked, just a little. “I’d be surprised if she’s walking straight.”
That was when he laughed—an exasperated, amused chuckle as he shook his head. He leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to her unbruised cheek. “Jesus, Steph.”
But he didn’t sound mad. If anything, there was something almost proud beneath the exasperation.
His hand lingered on her waist, thumb brushing against a torn edge of her blouse. For a moment, his amusement softened into something else—something warm, something familiar. His touch trailed just slightly, fingertips grazing over her ribs as his eyes met hers. The heat between them was sudden, natural, the years of marriage doing nothing to dull the spark.
Stephanie leaned into it, just a little. The tension from the fight still thrummed through her veins, but this was different, this was grounding. His breath was warm against her temple, and she could already feel the shift in his posture, the way his grip firmed just enough to tell her he was thinking the same thing.
Then, a crash from upstairs.
Both of them froze. A second later, a wail of frustration followed—one of the kids, followed by hurried footsteps and the telltale screech of an argument unfolding.
Stephanie closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose. Her husband groaned, forehead dropping briefly against her shoulder before he pulled back with a resigned sigh.
“Duty calls,” he muttered, shaking his head as he stepped away.
Stephanie huffed a quiet laugh, but it was laced with frustration. The moment had been right there, ready to reclaim some sense of triumph beyond the fight, and now it was gone. The reality of their life, of their responsibilities, had stolen it away just as she was settling into the high.
Her husband, already halfway down the hall, cast a look back at her, smirking. “She must’ve looked worse,” he said again, teasing now.
Stephanie smirked, rolling her eyes. “Damn right.”
And with that, he disappeared upstairs, leaving her standing there, still thrumming with restless energy — but no real way to release it.
The house was alive with noise—cartoons playing in the background, the distant chatter of the kids. But to Heather, stepping inside, it all felt strangely distant, like she was floating above it. Every part of her body ached, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, but her pulse was still humming, a restless energy lingering beneath her skin.
Her husband looked up as she entered, his expression shifting from casual greeting to surprise, then something closer to suspicion. “What the hell happened to you?” His eyes swept over her—her damp, dishevelled hair, the torn blouse clinging to her scraped shoulders, the muddy streaks across her arms.
Heather just grinned.
“Some idiot,” she said, kicking off her shoes. “Tried to run me off the road. Got a little heated.”
“A little?” He stepped closer, tilting his head. “Heather, you look like you got into a bar fight.”
She rolled her eyes, brushing past him toward the stairs. “It wasn’t that bad.”
He let out a sceptical breath but didn’t press. Instead, he glanced toward the front door. “Where’s the food?”
“In the car.”
He sighed, shaking his head as he reached for his keys. “Alright, I’ll get it. You go take a bath before the kids see you like this.”
Heather hesitated for half a second—long enough to realise just how inviting that sounded—before flashing him a quick smile. “Good idea.”
By the time he came upstairs, first aid kit in hand, she was already in the tub, the steaming water turning faintly murky from the remnants of mud clinging to her skin. She stretched out with a sigh, letting her head tip back against the edge as he stepped inside.
He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes still full of that barely restrained smirk. “So,” he said, “you gonna tell me what really happened, or should I just start guessing?”
Heather smirked back, dragging a slow, lazy hand through the water. “I told you. Crazy woman, bad driver, big attitude.”
He snorted, crouching beside the tub to get a better look at the scratches along her arm. “Right. And somehow, that turned into you coming home looking like you went twelve rounds in a parking lot.”
Heather’s grin widened. “More like six. Seven, tops.”
He shook his head, chuckling as he opened the kit. “Unbelievable.”
She watched him work, the warmth of the bath making her feel loose, almost weightless. The buzz in her veins hadn’t entirely faded—not quite nerves, not quite adrenaline, just something thrumming under the surface. As he dabbed at a scrape along her shoulder, she reached out, fingers curling around the front of his shirt.
He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
Heather hummed, tugging him closer, her grin playful. “I feel good.”
“You look like you got dragged through a ditch.”
“Mm. And yet.” She pulled again, guiding him down toward her.
He huffed, laughing against her lips, his free hand bracing against the tub. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, before kissing her back.
The first aid kit clattered to the floor, momentarily forgotten.
Later, as they lay tangled in the cooling water, his fingers idly tracing patterns over her damp skin, he suddenly stilled.
His thumb brushed against her earlobe.
“Wait,” he said, pulling back just enough to see her face. “Are those earrings new?”
Heather just smiled.
