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Weekly Contest #344
Brussels in February was a city of grey on grey. The mist didn’t just hang in the air; it clung to the cobblestones and seeped through the window frames, bringing a bone-deep chill that only a Belgian winter could provide. On the evening of February 23, 1980, I sat in the dim light of our house, the wood-paneled television set humming with the static of a trans-Atlantic delay.In Lake Placid, the celebrations had already peaked. In the United States, people were likely already hoarse from screaming, their flags tucked away after a day of impr...
Weekly Contest #341
The engine of the Wagoneer cut out, leaving us in a sudden, ringing silence. Outside, the afternoon sun baked the church parking lot's asphalt, trying to melt the snow, but inside, we lingered in the warmth. We sat there for a few minutes, neither of us ready to move, just clicking our aluminum cans of sparkling water against our teeth. I took a final, sharp swallow, the bubbles stinging my throat, and set the can in the cupholder with a definitive thud.“Shall we?” I asked, my hand already on the door handle.As we stepped out, the cold, cris...
Weekly Contest #340
I stood at the counter and ordered the large latte with the extra shot, sliding my card across the marble without glancing at the price board. The barista smiled and asked my name. I said it without shrinking, without softening the consonants, without apologizing for taking up space. I didn’t stop myself mid-sentence. I didn’t rehearse justification in my head. I didn’t add a laugh to make myself smaller.The cup was warm in my hands when I stepped aside. Foam kissed the lid. Cinnamon dusted the surface. For years, this moment would have come...
Weekly Contest #339
The kitchen was bathed in the pale, indifferent light of a Tuesday morning—never bright enough to feel like hope, only bright enough to show the dust on the windowsill and the dried splash marks on the faucet.I filled the kettle and set it on the burner. The flame caught with a soft whoomph, and the stove ticked as it warmed, a small, impatient sound. I sat at the heavy oak table with my forearms flat against the wood, letting its coolness hold me in place.Beside my cup lay a single sheet of monogrammed stationery and a fountain pen. The cre...
Weekly Contest #338
January 2026The eucalyptus oil hung in the air—sharp, clean, almost clinical. Years ago, that scent meant reset: a deep breath before the next rush, the next demand, the next day that required me to be pleasant on command. Today, it pressed down on me like a hand.I lay face down on the massage table with my forehead in the padded horseshoe, staring at the beige weave of the carpet. In the corner, a speaker played “nature sounds”—wind chimes and water meant to make everything feel harmless.Colette worked in silence for a minute, then her thum...
Weekly Contest #337
I spent my first weeks in Big River searching for local street art to hang on my walls and watering the succulents on the window sills, my mind racing with the city's noise until the 10-hour shifts at Steigenga’s turned my excitement into a dull ache in my arches.I spent my days at the promotions firm, with the phone receiver to my ear, only to rush home and add my Steigengas’ name tag to my blazer. My bank account barely grew, but every paycheck felt like a key to a door they couldn't lock.Despite my hectic schedule, I always made time for ...
Weekly Contest #336
In Big River, the name DeYoung didn’t just belong to a family; it belonged to the geography. It was etched into the cornerstone of the hospital’s waiting room, embossed on the stationery of the family’s business, and whispered with a mixture of reverence and resentment in the reformed churches in town. To marry Sam DeYoung was, in the eyes of the city, like being knighted. But as I stood in the center of "Stevensons," the town’s most exclusive bridal boutique, I didn’t feel like royalty. I felt like a specimen under a microscope.“You’re not ...
Weekly Contest #335
The kitchen no longer felt like a sanctuary; it felt like a pressurized cabin moments before the oxygen masks drop. Tate stood in the center of the room, his energy displacing the air, vibrating at a frequency that made the magnets on the refrigerator hum. His face was flushed, a high color rising in his cheeks that matched the startling, electric intensity in his crystal blue eyes. He didn’t just look at me; he bore into me, searching for a spark of the fire he was currently drowning in.“Mom, they’re doing everything they can to tear us apa...
Weekly Contest #334
The realization did not arrive like a polar vortex—shattering glass and howling through the eaves. It settled over me like a cold, steady snowfall, the kind that begins in the middle of the night and transforms the landscape into something unrecognizable by dawn.I sat at my computer in the corner of our bedroom. The house was a tomb of shadows, the only light being the harsh, clinical white glare of the monitor. It illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air, and the fine lines around my eyes reflected in the glass. For years, I had been a...
Weekly Contest #333
“You need to make things right with your parents first.”Mark’s voice was a broken record, skipping endlessly over the same scratch in the vinyl. He refused to meet Sam’s gaze.I stood in the doorway, my teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. It was the same script. We were trapped in a loop of our own making, pretending that this time logic and fairness would matter. They didn’t.I watched Sam’s shoulders slump. He had walked into this conversation with his chest open, armed with hope and a business plan, and walked out hollow. Again. We were al...
Weekly Contest #332
These days, I am choosing myself more and more. It was a practice that became easier with every journal entry, every page read, and every uncomfortable realization I unearthed.I had tried to bring Sam along on this journey, sending him screenshots and quotes, hoping to spark a conversation. But difficult conversations remained just that—difficult. Still, I wanted him to have the same map I was using. There was still time, and perhaps a sliver of hope, for him to learn how to change his role in his family.Before I left for Salt Lake City to b...
Weekly Contest #331
I watched the snowfall as we pulled into Susan and Jerry’s driveway. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 11:45 a.m. My stomach tightened. Sunday dinners were usually painful, and that was without the added burden of other commitments to navigate. Today, though, I needed to leave by 1:00 p.m. to catch a flight to New York City. I’d recently been promoted again, from assistant accessory buyer—the job I landed just a year after our wedding—to dress buyer, my dream job. I knew not to expect any congratulations at Sam’s house. Success was ba...
Weekly Contest #330
I opened the email about the annual Family Christmas party for Susan’s side of the family. A little bile rose in my throat. I thought back on the party over the years—how we first attended, unknowingly, contributing to this sickness that ran in the family, and how our own crazy hockey schedule helped excuse our attendance. As our children grew into adults and one of the grandsons started a hard cider business, alcohol was finally allowed. I could use my token crutch. Yet now, after all these years, I finally have a diagnosis for this dysfunc...
Weekly Contest #329
Managing Sam’s mother and her unyielding expectations during our first year of marriage was a burden I hadn’t fully anticipated. For every family member’s birthday, every holiday, and every Sunday, Susan expected us to be at her house for dinner without fail. On holidays, she also assumed we would attend their church service. What should have been a warm family meal and meaningful church attendance turned into an uncomfortable obligation—a ritual meant to maintain appearances rather than strengthen family bonds. Conversation was minimal, the...
Weekly Contest #328
Tara“You’re not seriously going to wear an off-the-shoulder dress, are you?” I heard Susan’s voice behind me, booming through the bridal boutique.The chaos of wedding planning often felt like a whirlwind, but Sam and I had quiet moments of connection, which made the gauntlet of bridal boutiques tolerable, even with Susan.I’d asked her to accompany my mother and me, hoping to appease her. But it wasn’t working.I froze, meeting her critical look in the mirror. Her voice was authoritative.I ran my hand over the raw silk skirt. It was the first ...
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