hing?”
“Anything.”
“Can I come with you?” Her voice cracked on the last word. “Just… for a little while. I can’t stay here. They’ll turn on me for this.”
I didn’t hesitate.
“Yes,” I said. “Pack. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
When I hung up, I felt something close to peace for the first time in my life—not because everything was resolved, but because I was finally choosing who got to be in my orbit.
The trip to Vermont stretched across states like a ribbon unwinding. The sky shifted from city haze to open blue. Trees thickened. Billboards disappeared. The world grew quieter in a way that felt like healing.
Emma sat beside me in the passenger seat, knees tucked up, watching the scenery like she was afraid it might vanish if she blinked. She didn’t talk much at first. Neither did I. Some silences are heavy; some are simply rest.
When we finally turned onto the road listed on the deed, my heart began to pound again. Not with fear this time, but anticipation—like approaching the first day of a new life.
The driveway was long, flanked by tall pines that formed a green corridor. At the end, a gate stood closed, old iron with curling designs that looked like vines frozen in metal.
I pulled up and stopped.
For a moment, I just stared.
“This is… yours?” Emma whispered.
I swallowed. “I think so.”
My hands shook as I took the key from my pocket. It wasn’t ornate. Just metal, slightly worn, like it had been waiting for me for a long time.
I stepped out of the car. The air smelled like earth and pine needles. There was a quiet hum of insects, a distant birdcall. No traffic. No sirens. No constant reminder that the world was running faster than my heart could keep up.
I slid the key into the gate lock.
It turned smoothly, as if it recognized me.
The gate clicked, then swung open with a slow, welcoming groan.
Emma let out a breath she’d been holding. “Oh my God.”
