She told me the car felt a little off—like it had a wobble when she hit the freeway. Nothing huge, just strange. I figured it was probably low tire pressure or maybe the alignment was a bit off. I told her I’d check it out after dinner.
Next morning, I walked out with a cup of coffee in one hand and my tire gauge in the other, expecting something minor. Maybe one tire was low. Maybe I’d find nothing at all.
But when I crouched down at the rear driver’s side tire, I spotted it instantly.
There it was—a massive, rusted nail jammed into the rubber. Not a small nail either—this thing was huge, almost like it belonged in a railroad tie. And what struck me most was the angle. It wasn’t just run over. It looked like it had been forced in—wedged at a slant, almost deliberately.
My first thought was that she might’ve picked it up near a construction zone. But that didn’t add up—we don’t live near any, and her routine is the same every day: to work and back. I took a picture and sent it to her. Her response? “Wow, didn’t even see that.”
I was ready to chalk it up to bad luck—until I remembered something she’d mentioned the week before. A guy at her office had offered to help when she said the car was feeling off. He’d suggested it might be a suspension issue. According to her, he was just being nice.
That guy? His name’s Dominic.
And my wife? Sasha.
I’ve always trusted her, but when I saw Dominic’s name pop up on her phone again—right as I was staring at that strange nail—something didn’t sit right.
I stayed in the garage for a bit, just thinking. It didn’t make sense. Nails like that don’t end up jammed into tires at odd angles by accident. I wanted to just yank it out, but I knew better—if it was somehow sealing the tire, pulling it could deflate the whole thing on the spot.
So I did the responsible thing: took the car to the tire shop.
The mechanic there—quiet guy named Rafael—put it on the lift and took a look. “That’s not something you see every day,” he said. He carefully pulled the nail out, patched the hole, and tested the tire. Luckily, it held. The tire could be saved.
But then he paused, holding the nail between his fingers. “It almost looks like someone hammered it in,” he said. “But hey, roads are weird.”
I nodded—but inside, I wasn’t so sure anymore.