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    Home » My Wife And Her Friends Thought It Would Be Hilarious To Leave Me Stranded In Another State. “Let’s See If He Can Make It Back!” They Laughed As They Drove Off, Leaving Me Behind. I Never Returned… Fifteen Years Later, She Found Me. 107 Missed Calls.
    Story Of Life

    My Wife And Her Friends Thought It Would Be Hilarious To Leave Me Stranded In Another State. “Let’s See If He Can Make It Back!” They Laughed As They Drove Off, Leaving Me Behind. I Never Returned… Fifteen Years Later, She Found Me. 107 Missed Calls.

    LuckinessBy Luckiness11/07/2025Updated:11/07/20256 Mins Read
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    I stood there in the blinding Colorado sun, squinting at the empty spot where our car had been just 10 minutes ago. My wife, Chloe, and her friends Ela, Stephanie, and Lauren had vanished. At first, I thought it was one of their stupid pranks; they were always doing stuff like this—pushing boundaries, testing how much I’d take before I snapped.

    Five years of marriage and I’d gotten used to their little games—the way they’d laugh at me, the way Chloe would join in instead of standing up for me. But this… this felt different. My phone was still plugged into the car charger, my wallet tucked in the glove box. All I had was the faded t-shirt and jeans I was wearing and a growing pit in my stomach as the minutes ticked by.

    We’d been on this road trip to Stephanie’s lake house for 3 days now, and I’d been miserable the whole time. Chloe had begged me to come, said it would be a chance to bond with her crew. I wasn’t big on the idea. Her friends always treated me like an outsider, tossing out jabs and inside jokes I wasn’t part of. But I went anyway, because I loved her… or at least, I thought I did.

    The gas station was in the middle of nowhere, just a dusty little stop off the highway with a flickering sign and a single pump. I’d gone inside to use the bathroom, figuring they’d wait. They always waited. Except this time, they didn’t.

    An hour passed. I paced the cracked pavement, kicking pebbles, telling myself they’d come back any second. Tires crunched gravel, Chloe’s voice calling out, “Gotcha!” But the road stayed quiet.

    Two hours in, sweat was dripping down my neck, and my throat was dry. I kept replaying the last few days in my head—the way Stephanie smirked when she accidentally spilled coffee on my lap, how Lauren whispered something to Chloe that made her giggle while glancing at me, how I just watched it all with that smug little grin. I should have seen it coming. They’d been building up to something, and I’d been too dumb to notice.

    A truck pulled up, its engine rumbling loud enough to shake me out of my thoughts. The driver, a big guy with a gray beard and a stained ball cap, leaned out the window. “You okay, buddy? Been standing there a while.” His voice was rough but kind, and it hit me like a punch. I wasn’t okay. They weren’t coming back. Chloe wasn’t coming back.

    I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yeah, my ride left me. You think you could help?”

    He nodded like it wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone stranded out here. “Hop in. Where you headed?”

    I didn’t even know. Home. Back to Chloe. The life we built. But as I climbed into the cab, something shifted inside me. Five years of her laughing at me, brushing me off, letting her friends treat me like garbage—it all came rushing up, hot and heavy. I stared out the window as the gas station shrank in the side mirror.

    The trucker didn’t ask too many questions. He just kept driving, humming some old country song. My hands clenched into fists on my lap. I could have borrowed his phone, called Chloe, demanded answers. But what would she say? “It was a joke, babe, don’t be so sensitive.” I’d heard it all before. Every time I complained about her friends, she’d roll her eyes and tell me I didn’t get their humor. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I never would.

    But standing there, alone, abandoned like some stray dog, I realized something: they didn’t get me either. And Chloe—she’d picked them over me again and again.

    The trucker dropped me off at a crossroad, pointing me toward Grand Junction, the nearest town. “Good luck, man,” he said, tipping his cap.

    I nodded, my throat tight, and started walking. My shoes scuffed the dirt, the sun beating down on my head. No phone, no money, no plan—just me and the open road. Part of me wanted to turn back, to beg someone at the gas station to call her, to fix this. But another part, a louder part, kept pushing me forward.

    I was done being the punchline. Done being the guy they laughed at. Chloe and her friends thought they’d won. Thought they’d broken me. But as I trudged toward Grand Junction, a strange calm settled over me. They hadn’t broken me. They’d set me free.

    I didn’t know what was waiting for me in that town. I didn’t know how I’d eat, where I’d sleep, or how I’d get by. With nothing but the clothes on my back. But for the first time in years, I wasn’t scared of what Chloe would think. I wasn’t worried about her friend’s next move. I was alone, yeah. But I wasn’t helpless.

    The road stretched out ahead, endless and empty, and I kept walking. They’d left me behind, but maybe that was the best thing they could have done. Maybe this was my chance to figure out who I was—without her. Without them.

    By the time the sun started dipping low, turning the sky orange, I’d made up my mind. I wasn’t going back. Not to Chloe. Not to that life. Whatever came next, it was mine to build.

    I stood at that dusty crossroad, where the trucker dropped me off, the Colorado wind kicking up little swirls of dirt around my feet. Grand Junction was somewhere ahead, but I didn’t have a map, a phone, or a dime to my name—just the clothes on my back and a head full of spinning thoughts. Chloe and her friends had left me high and dry, and part of me still wanted to find a way to call her, to hear her voice, to demand she turn the car around. But then I remembered how she’d laughed when Stephanie accidentally knocked my beer over at the lake house. How she’d shrugged when I asked her to stick up for me. Five years of that. Five years of feeling like a guest in my own marriage. No. I wasn’t calling her. Not this time.

    I started walking toward town, my sneakers crunching on the gravel. The sun was still high, baking the ground, and sweat soaked through my shirt. I didn’t know how far Grand Junction was. Miles, probably. But I didn’t care. Every step felt like a choice, like I was leaving her behind. One footprint at a time.

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