After Everything

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence and pregnancy loss.

Elena drove back from the clinic through the rain, cramping and uncomfortable, trying to focus on the future. She needed acetaminophen and a long, hot bath. Even so, for the first time in a long while, she was optimistic.

Jeff was waiting for her on the front steps under a golf umbrella, surely repulsed at the idea of getting his swanky suit and coiffed curls wet. A quick glance in the rearview indicated that the only thing strong enough to pull her sunken face together was a mask of resolved confidence. She donned the emotion like a second skin, pulled her hair into a topknot tight enough to lift her dark brows along with the corners of her eyes. When she looked back at Jeff, his features awash in bewilderment, he gestured for her to roll down the passenger side window. Elena acquiesced, the space between the frame and window transforming into a tiny mail slot through which he could air his grievances. The incoming words promised to be intolerable, so she focused on the scent of rainwater, the feel of taut leather as she crushed it within her grip.

“Where on Earth were you? I’ve been calling all day! Why haven’t you answered? This morning I went to your empty office and saw from the window that your car was gone. I imagined the worst! I took the day off and had to have Jenson cover several important cases, not that you care. Where were you, El?” He was breathless, exasperated.

No, Jeff was exasperating.

The urge to shift out of park and pull through the U-shaped driveway was strong. However, the need for painkillers was becoming more pressing with every second spent sitting in indecision. Elena rested her head on the steering wheel, letting her mind find peace for a moment. Breathe in for four seconds, hold for five, breathe out for seven.

“Elena!” he shouted, banging on the side of the car. “Hello? You’re seriously not even going to answer me?” Open eyes revealed that he was standing closer, hulking beside the passenger door.

Pathetically, she felt grateful for his good sense in not coming to the driver’s side when the only thing she was communicating was a silent, obvious need for space. Before she’d finished that thought, a failure to yank open the door opposite her had prompted him to move around the vehicle, scowling. Elena began another round of breathing exercises.

“This is ridiculous. You disappear all day, maybe all night, without a word, and you won’t deign to discuss it with me when you come home? I swear to God, Elena, if you don’t get out of this car right now, I’m going to–”

His words were cut off when the door opened forcefully, catching him in the shins. All at once, Elena managed to roll her eyes while glowering and slamming the door shut. She quickly walked up the steps and into the house.

Jeff’s footfalls were clumsy on the tile in the entryway behind her. He was winded, nursing his injuries. Finally, the sound of his sharp inhale caught her attention—his ability to nonverbally communicate self-righteousness knew no bounds. She had no intention of listening to the rest of this one-sided argument unmedicated.

“Take your shoes off, you oaf,” Elena threw the interruption over a shoulder. Before he could start up again, she grabbed a half-drunk glass of water off the counter and quickly made her way into the belly of the house. With him dumbstruck, torn between his hatred for shoes in the house and desire to put Elena in her place, she slipped quietly into the bathroom and engaged the lock.

“Are you kidding me?” The entire wall shook with the combined force of Jeff’s words and fists mere seconds after the bolt slid home.

Elena, not to be shaken, took a moment to appreciate the elegant, sturdy craftsmanship of the blessed, solid wood barrier between her and the outside world. She peeled off her wet top before turning on the faucet of the white ceramic and brass clawfoot tub. Focusing on her tasks, appreciating their small importance, she popped the pills into her mouth and washed them down with the glass’s dregs. Black sweatpants pooled around her ankles before finding a spot on the floor next to the T-shirt as lavender bath bubbles mixed with steamy water.

“Oh, Mama. You have such good taste,” she whispered, running a finger along the rim of the basin. Avoiding herself in the ornate mirror, she continued her private homage. “And Dad—my goodness, you are so damn talented.” Knowing eyes found every beautiful detail for the hundredth time, imbibing, too, the love her father had poured into the home for her mother.

“This is beyond unacceptable, Elena,” Jeff spat her name, pulling her back into his demented monologue. “Truly beyond the pale, even for you. I am your husband, I deserve an explanation!” Everything about his self-aggrandizing speech made Elena wish she’d prioritized headphones, earplugs even, over drinking water. The clarity of hindsight was truly painful.

When Elena had married Jeff–young, naive, hopeful, all in the most clichéd way–her parents had surprised her with the home as they embarked on an epic retirement road trip. They were hauling a small Airstream they’d refurbished together, and both were adamant that they had no need for a house. “Please understand, sweetheart, it’s not a wedding present. This is a gift to you, with your name alone on the deed. We prefer that it stay that way, but obviously it’s your choice, as always. It’s just a good idea to keep some assets to yourself.” Her mother's words rattled around in her brain.

Elena breathed out the past, tuned back into the present, and attempted to occupy her senses. Rushing water quickly faded into a familiar dull sound as the large reservoir accepted the continued offering from mere inches above. Licking her upper lip to taste the hint of salty tears mixing with floral notes in her nostrils, she noticed the chalky aftertaste of pills. Elena imagined the relief washing over her nervous system in unison with the water over the floor. Finally, she stemmed the faucet’s flow and stepped in, creating a momentary waterfall as the warmth enveloped her skin. The pooling liquid ultimately moved toward the small brass drain her dad had set into the tile to allow for the specific luxury of submerging one's body entirely.

She’d always told herself that when her and Jeff became parents, they’d strive to be just as good, just as thoughtful and kind, as hers.

“Elena Marie Carver,” Jeff stage whispered, “if you do not open this door in the next two minutes, I will force my way inside.” Now there was a statement her pacifist father would truly appall.

Clearing her throat, realizing she’d barely spoken since waking, Elena planned to politely promise she’d explain soon if he left her alone and the home unscathed. Before she even uttered a word, however, two events happened in rapid succession. First, she heard him move slightly, perhaps an ear pressed to the wood. Second came the sound of him falling mightily to the ground, some part of his body banging bluntly into the door on the way down.

“GODDAMNIT,” he shouted, over and over.

Elena imagined her red-faced husband, hyper-focused on himself and his anger, oblivious to the small pool of water that inevitably seeped into the hall each time she bathed—something her dad’s architecture had been designed around, but something Jeff had obviously forgotten.

“Well if that’s not a metaphor for the differences in our marriage, I don’t know what is.” Only in continuing the hushed conversation with her parents did she realize that it was perhaps a bit strange. Still, for thirty seconds, she held laughter tightly behind strained lips while Jeff huffed, puffed, and grunted.

“Goddamnit, Elena!” She mouthed the words along with him as he loudly blasphemed against the edges of her name. Then came the sound of him stomping away, likely in search of dry clothes–or maybe an ax. Truly, Elena didn’t care at this point.

Just as she heard her husband’s clunky footsteps heading back towards her, the doorbell rang. “Finally,” Elena exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Jeff’s previously palpable anger now invaded the house, an insidious entity all its own.

Imaging his face again, now as he opened the door to find her parents, her best friend Dylon, and Dylon’s husband Max was, frankly, a treat. They’d been set to arrive early this morning but had been delayed by the weather. To their credit, the timing had changed on short notice. As such, her friends had to pick up her parents, whose well-loved station wagon was in the shop. Now that they’d finally made it, though, safety was assured and she could truly relax.

Jeff, who valued nothing more than appearances and certainly couldn’t fathom what was happening, would do nothing untoward in their presence.

After roughly ten seconds of bliss, Elena’s mind decided, of its own accord, to play out a version of the scene she had so carefully orchestrated.

“Come on in,” Jeff would say, pleasant words masking a deep impatience. “Please, make yourselves at home. Can I get anyone anything?” he’d ask the group, ever the well-mannered host, as they made themselves comfortable in the living room. Everyone would decline, singularly focused.

“Jeff, please sit down.” Her dad, somehow both gentle and imposing, would assert dominance in the home where Jeff lived but that he’d designed and built with his own hands. “This all probably feels strange, but I’m going to cut to the chase. Elena has made it clear to us that she needs out of this relationship. From what we understand, she’s tried to convey this to you several times, but those conversations have ended…poorly.”

A pregnant pause would follow that last word as everyone in the space briefly ruminated on their understanding of its meaning. Dylon, who’d been spared no details, would surely ooze murderous intent.

“Dave,” Jeff would hold eye contact with my father as he delivered his lines, “we’ve been happy lately. Sure, we’ve had our fair share of arguments and difficulties, and harder times than most. Everything that happened though, she’s over all of it. We’ve moved on.”

Elena, exhausted and pruney, decided to reorient her imagination. If she was being honest with herself, it was difficult just to hear his fictional voice in her head. Changing tack, she pictured her living room, a backdrop of white, natural wood, and sleek brass accents she’d chosen to create a warm and inviting atmosphere. Holding the image in her mind’s eye, as though it would help extend her hearing through the walls, she attempted to tune into the conversation actually unfolding, to no avail.

Admitting to herself that the combination of muscle relaxers from earlier and recent pain medications was likely making her a little loopy, she had to acknowledge, too, that she genuinely hated the man her husband had become. While she wasn’t certain that she wanted to see Jeff’s face when the news was delivered, she needed to make sure she had the chance, just in case.

Drying off and dressing in the clothes she’d worn to the appointment, Elena finally caught her gaunt, haggard reflection in the mirror. Tucking a stray blonde lock behind her ear and smoothing out her braid, she straightened her spine and met her own hazel gaze. She gave herself silent credit for every therapy session, inconspicuously altered joint account, yoga retreat, hushed conversation, mindfulness practice, clandestine appointment, and new medication that had paved the way during this endeavor. She’d desperately needed Jeff to believe she was healing, that his edict was law and it was bearing healthy fruit.

Quietly opening the door and strategically tiptoeing across the rugs towards their living room, Elena heard her mom’s velvety voice addressing Jeff from the hall. “Listen, honey, Elena just needs space to do things her own way. In this envelope you will find an agreement to continue providing for you financially in the divorce papers as long as you adhere to the restraining order. You both deserve a fresh start.”

Jeff’s intake of air was cut short by her dad this time, and as Elena listened to his words, she imagined all that oxygen filling her partner like a balloon and carrying him far, far away. “Anne is right, son. After everything the two of you have endured, the best thing for everyone is to appreciate what you’ve meant to each other as you wipe the slate clean.”

Elena’s mind got stuck, as it often did, on the reality of “everything” they’d endured. After all the miscarriages, failed IVF transfers, and, impossibly, IVF-related “missed abortions”—which was what the hospital’s wrote every time she had to go in to have her precious baby evacuated and tested for answers—she had been a mess. Elena had been a shell of herself, but she’d also been certain that if they could get a pregnancy past the dreaded thirteen- week mark, they’d be home free. Jeff had other plans. When they got down to their last viable embryo, after many conversations around the financial implications of attempting another transfer, Jeff had declared they were finished. “We won’t be using that embryo, at least not until I see a marked improvement in your mental health. That last little guy can serve as a hopeful incentive for you to get yourself together. I’m doing you a favor, truly.”

That conversation had been two years ago, and no matter what Elena did, Jeff had dangled that last baby like a carrot on a stick. The point wasn’t healing, the point was control.

“The financial incentive,” she heard Dylon interject, “is substantial.” Dylon knew Jeff and clearly realized that the fastest way to get him to agree was to show him the hefty bottom line. No matter that Elena had been forced to sacrifice the house to him to make it possible, she couldn’t have asked him to leave and felt safe there anyways. She would miss it, and she wouldn’t, full of ghosts as it was.

“Just leave for the weekend to give us time to pack her belongings. When you come back Monday morning, we’ll all be gone.” Max, a lawyer at the first firm Jeff had worked for after college, conveyed the rest of the arrangement’s details in hushed tones, imperceptible from the hallway.

Elena was silently thanking Jeff for bringing Dylon into her life when she recognized the sound of Jeff’s footsteps suddenly heading in her direction. Panicking, and decidedly not needing to see his face, she ducked into the nearest room. Long after the front door shuddered in its frame, her heart and lungs finally calmed enough for her surroundings to register.

Horrifically, Elena had stepped into the ghosts’ sanctum—the pale yellow nursery she’d curated four years ago. She had lived a million lives since then. Knocking a few books and a stuffed bunny off a floating shelf on the wall in her hurry, she darted out of the room. Elena’s need to gulp down air ripped the front door open. Grounding herself in reality, in the fact that this nightmarish chapter was over, she noted the marked absence of Jeff and his vehicle.

Finally, she allowed herself to rest her hand on her lower abdomen as she conjured the profile of the healthy donor she’d chosen to create embryos that belonged to her alone. Once, when they’d learned that Jeff’s sperm samples were subpar and the likely culprit for their fertility issues, Elena had tried to discuss the possibility of a donor with her soon-to-be ex-husband. Unfortunately, he’d knocked the thought out of her head hard enough for it to be the last time she’d ever asked.

Elena inhaled the sweet scent of petrichor as her mom stepped beside her, entwining their fingers.

Elena knew that would make for an acceptable end—and new beginning—for her story, but failed to find sufficient satisfaction. With no intention of handing over her house, she went about quietly setting the stage for a plausible accidental fire, one that would start many hours after her departure. Though she’d never imagined using her knowledge and skillset from her work as an arson investigator for anything illegal, and especially not to destroy her childhood home, she simply couldn’t imagine leaving the place for Jeff to continue infusing with his hateful energy.

Heading out Saturday morning, Elena fantasized about the look on Jeff’s face when he was inevitably called back to the house, only to find ashes.

Police Report, Case No. 53294, Detective Sam Wilkinson, 7/27/25, 2037, Death of Jeffrey Carver:

The victim’s wife, Elena Carver, is on a road trip with her parents. The victim’s friends, Max and Dylon Reed, attest to driving Mrs Carver to her parent’s car at a repair shop in Holland, MI, leaving Ann Arbor at roughly 1032 on 7/26/25 . They then watched her drive North with her parents, David and Anne Miller, in their station wagon a few hours later. Per Mr and Mrs Reed, the victim was asked to leave the premises of his home until Monday morning to allow time for Mrs Carver to pack her things and leave after a dissolution of their marriage. Mr and Mrs Reed seemed truly devastated to hear he’d been there during Saturday night’s fire, which is believed to have been accidental. The couple also expressed disbelief and horror when told that the victim had assorted, weaponry, several rolls of duct tape, and ropes in his vehicle. At time of contact, 2014 on Sunday 7/27/25, Mrs Carver seemed truly surprised to hear of her ex-husband’s passing. Mrs Carver agreed to come to the station tomorrow for further questioning.