Page 110 of The Professor's Wife

I wanted to ask if he thought the owner was around, or maybe inside. If perhaps they were on a trail walk and were going to loop back around.

Except no words left my throat.

There were no trail walks here. It was literally a narrow path up the mountainside. No two cars could fit alongside it.

“Let’s turn back,” I said.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

We didn’t speak again. He didn’t drive past the truck, either, to find a spot he could turn us around in. Instead, he put the car in reverse and drove backwards for most of the way.

Gravel shifted beneath the tires as he guided us down. I watched the edge of the path through my window, trying notto imagine one wheel slipping too far. The drop beyond it disappeared into the fog.

Neither of us suggested stopping.

Eventually, we found a clearing we could turn around in. Then we left the path and went back on the main roads. He chose a different route, one that felt less haunted. We still hadn’t spoken.

Even the music stopped playing.

That night, parked in a quiet grove, I lay in the van with the image of that truck burned into my mind.

The deer, too.

The way it had backed away without turning.

We didn’t even want to drive past it.

I kept thinking: What if we should’ve checked it out?

What if that’s how bad things stay buried—because people feel something’s off and just…walk away?

I turned to Tristan, who was lying beside me, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like he was waiting for sleep to find him.

“Do you ever wonder,” I whispered, “if the worst things in the world stay hidden because people don’t want to feel uncomfortable?”

He turned his head toward me. He stared at me for a beat longer. “You mean like that truck?”

He knew. It was on his mind too. I nodded. “We didn’t even try to understand it. We just felt something was wrong and left.”

“Isn’t that instinct?” he asked. “Survival?”

“Maybe,” I said. “But Plato would’ve disagreed.”

He raised a brow. “Plato?”

I smiled faintly. “In The Republic, he talks about justice. Not just laws, but the idea that every person has a role. That a just society is one where people—all of us—act not out of fear, but out of reason. That we’re supposed to face the uncomfortable truths, not run from them.” I looked down, suddenly unsure of myself. “At least, that’s what it made me think about tonight.”

Tristan was quiet for a moment. “First Seneca. Now Plato. I didn’t know you were so familiar with philosophy.”

I shrugged, weakly. “I know a thing or two.”

“So, you think we failed some philosophical test?”

“I think we missed a moment,” I said. “Plato believed that when individuals avoid discomfort, when they act selfishly or ignore their duty, society starts to unravel. Not all at once. Just slowly. In moments of silence. In moments like that truck.”

He turned fully toward me now, eyes searching mine. “But what if our duty was to protect ourselves?”

“That’s the paradox,” I whispered. “Fear keeps us alive. But sometimes it also stops us from looking. I don’t know how you’re supposed to tell the difference.”