His eyes flared, clearly irritated by her question. For a moment, the tension between them felt unbearable. The quiet country road, once peaceful, now felt like the stage for something far more serious.
Jenny’s question hung in the air like smoke—thin, fragile, and combustible.
The officer’s expression hardened. “Are you refusing a lawful order?” he barked, his tone sharp with warning.
“I’m not refusing,” Jenny replied quickly, her voice cracking under pressure. “I’m just… asking if this is legal without a warrant. I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.”
The officer leaned closer, his shadow stretching across her door like a dark cloud. “You swerved,” he said through clenched teeth. “You admitted distraction. That’s probable cause.”
Jenny swallowed hard, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She glanced around the empty road—still no other cars, no witnesses. Just the two of them, suspended in this bizarre moment.
“Please, sir,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Can you just explain what you’re looking for?”
The officer didn’t answer. Instead, he tapped the roof of her car twice, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence. “Step out. Trunk. Now.”
Jenny hesitated, then slowly unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. The cool night air hit her like a wave. As she stepped out, she could feel her knees trembling slightly. With cautious movements, she made her way to the back of her car.
Every second felt elongated, stretched out with uncertainty.
Her fingers hovered above the latch as she turned to face him one last time. “Please,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Can you just tell me what’s going on?”
He didn’t respond. His hand moved toward his belt—perhaps for a flashlight, perhaps for something else. That subtle movement sent a chill down her spine.
With trembling hands, Jenny slowly popped the trunk open.
Inside was nothing but her usual haul: a couple of grocery bags from earlier in the week, her teaching supplies, and a box of replica civil rights-era artifacts she had brought home to prep her lesson plan.
The officer stepped forward, flashlight sweeping across the contents. His expression didn’t change, but he lingered longer than necessary.
Jenny watched, silent and tense, as he examined the items. “What’s all this?” he asked.
“I’m a teacher,” she replied, her voice steadier now. “History. These are just class materials.”
Something shifted in his posture—his shoulders tensed. “You can close it,” he finally said.