Last week, she casually suggested selling it to pay for her brother’s wedding. I shut it down immediately.
Yesterday, I came home and the car was gone. She smiled and said, “You’ll thank me later.”
I grabbed my spare keys and ran outside, but there was nothing to start.
Then, she pulled out a check. “It’s already sold,” she said. “For a great price.”
She looked so pleased with herself. I just stood there, staring at her.
I don’t even know what I felt in that moment—rage, disbelief, sadness, maybe all of them at once. That Mustang was more than just a car. It was my uncle’s memory, his legacy. He left it to me because he knew I loved it. And now it was gone, just like that, because my wife decided it was ‘for the best.’
“You did what?” I finally managed to say, my voice shaking.