This is my first attempt at a short story and I didn't do much in the way of revision, so please tear it apart.
In total honesty, Jackie, I know this is going to be a shitty excuse for my disappearance, but hear me out.
Last Tuesday, something clicked in me. There was absolutely nothing different about that day. I woke up at 6:30, as I always do. I kissed you goodbye while you cooked the kids breakfast, as I always do. I filed my morning reports, as I always do. But for some reason, I felt different. I had been doing a lot of thinking that day; perhaps it's something that comes with age. All of my buddies from college were in their primes. Jack's an accountant for Merrill Lynch, Tony just won that big class action lawsuit against Comcast, and Alex is somehow slated to retire in a few months. And me? I make 5 figures at an office job that I've been working at for 7 years. I've seen person after person receive a promotion or move on to bigger companies, but I'm not going anywhere. I saw the world moving forward without me, and I wasn't a fan.
Something snapped on that Tuesday. Instead of making a left out of the parking lot, the left that I had made a thousand times before, I turned right and got onto I-95. I don't really remember driving or where I was going; all I did was think. I thought about you. I thought about the kids. I thought about how I'm going to leave my mark on the world, and I came up with nothing. At some point, I saw a Toyota Camry broken down on the side of the road, and decided to stop. I had nowhere to go, after all.
What I saw next is the reason I'm back here with you today. There was a short, heavyset Hispanic man standing outside the car with his wife, who was crying uncontrollably. The hood, covered with spots of rust and dents, was popped open, and smoke was pouring out. I stood there for a few seconds, assessing the situation. I asked the man if he would like me to bring him back to his house, but he and his wife stared in confusion. Remembering what I could from my eighth grade Spanish classes, I asked, "¿Quieren que yo manejo a su casa?" The woman continued to sob even harder as I realized what the true problem was. Inside the car were two children, no older than 5, and what appeared to be all of the family's belongings. Clothes and toys decorated the backseat, while one suit hung, neatly pressed, on the car door. This car was all they had, and here it sat, broken down on the side of I-95. This family had nothing left, and meanwhile I was throwing a fit over how my life is too monotonous. After dropping the family off at a mechanic and leaving them with a few hundred dollars, I started home. I did some more thinking on my trek home, but this time, I thought about how much I couldn't wait to return to my boring life. I love you, honey. I love the kids, and I love my 9-5 job. I'm happy to be back, and I'm sorry for scaring you.