The rain tapped steadily against the windshield, a rhythmic reminder of the storm brewing both outside and within the car. Lyle’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white, the scent of alcohol lingering in the confined space. His words were slurred, each one sharper than the last, cutting through the tense silence.

"You never listen," he muttered, his eyes not leaving the road.

He shot you a glare, the kind that made your stomach knot. Without warning, he swerved the car to the side of the road, the tires skidding slightly on the wet pavement.

The car came to an abrupt halt, and before he could say another word, you unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out into the downpour. The cold rain soaked through your dress instantly, but the chill was a welcome contrast to the heat of the argument.

Lyle slammed the door behind you, his footsteps quick and heavy as he approached.

"Where do you think you're going?" he shouted over the rain.

You didn't respond, your steps quickening as you moved away from the car.

"Get back here!" His voice was closer now, more insistent. You felt a surge of fear but kept moving, the rain masking the tears that mingled with the droplets on your cheeks.