Page 52
The mountains gradually give way to winding streets lined with brick storefronts and century-old buildings. My pulse quickens as the navigation announces we’ve arrived and the rideshare slows.
The driver pulls to the curb and shifts the car into park.
"This the place?" he asks, glancing back at me like he’s not entirely convinced.
"That is perfect."
“You sure?”
“I’m positive.”
With a shrug of his shoulders, he climbs out and lifts my suitcase from the trunk while I gather my bag and my new phone.
"Thank you," I say as I step onto the sidewalk.
"My pleasure. Good luck."
"Thanks." My eyes are already moving past him, cataloging everything at once. The brick storefronts, the church bell clanging somewhere down Main Street. Possibility, dressed up as an ordinary street corner.
He climbs back behind the wheel, and a moment later the car disappears down the street.
My grip tightens on the handle of my suitcase.
No one knows I'm here. No one’s expecting me. No one’s planned what happens next.
For the first time in my life, every decision belongs to me.
The thought should terrify me.
Instead, a slow breath fills my lungs. My chin lifts, and I take my first step.
Astra
The sidewalk stretches ahead of me, and for a moment I just stand there, unsure which direction even matters yet. A few steps in, I stop in front of a darkened florist’s window and pretend I have somewhere specific to be.
People move around me without paying much attention. A woman carrying a paper cup pauses to speak to a man salting the sidewalk outside one of the shops. A delivery truck idles near the corner, exhaust curling white smoke into the air while someone unloads crates through an open door. Farther down the street, a little boy in a puffy blue coat tugs against his mother’s hand, more interested in the icicles hanging off a shop awning than in walking anywhere.
No one knows that I left an engagement ring on my dresser this morning. No one knows there’s a letter beneath it that will break my parents’ hearts. To everyone passing me, I’m simply a woman standing on Main Street with a suitcase. The anonymity should be comforting. Mostly, it makes me aware that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.
I reach into my bag and take out the prepaid phone. It takes me two attempts to remember the passcode I chose less than an hour ago, and when the screen finally unlocks, the emptiness of it catches me again.
No missed calls.
No messages.
No demands waiting to be answered.
Opening the browser, I stare at the search bar. A hotel feels like the obvious place to start, but my stomach growls before I can type anything.
Right.
Food first. Shelter second. Then the rest of my life.
I slip the phone back into my bag and look along the row of storefronts. Ashbourne has changed since I was ten, but not enough to erase the shape of the town I remember.
The buildings still sit close together, most of them brick or stone, with painted signs hanging from iron brackets above the sidewalk. Window boxes sit empty except for a few sprigs of evergreen someone tucked in for the season. An old clock rises above the municipal building at the end of the street, its hands creeping toward noon.
Across from me, a broad front window is painted with the words BREAKFAST SERVED ALL DAY.
