Sarah
The sun was low when we drove into Rosehill.That soft golden hour glow spilled over the fields, made the rooftops shimmer, and painted the sky in colors that used to mean summer and freedom and youth. it looked exactly the same. and yet... nothing felt familiar.
Ryan was quiet in the passenger seat, earbuds in, head turned toward the window. He hadn't said much since we crossed the county line. I didn't blame him.
"This is it," I said, more to myself than him.
Our new beginning. Or maybe our unfinished ending.
The main street rolled past like a memory I wasn't ready to face. The diner where I used to spend weekends. The park where we snuck out after curfew. The church steps where he kissed me for the first time. And the corner I crossed the night I found out I was pregnant—with a heart full of fear and a lie on my lips.
He told me to get rid of it.
I told him I would.
And then I left.
Sometimes, I wonder if I ever stopped running.
The car pulled up in front of the building I'd bought with the last of my savings—a two-story corner lot with chipping paint and a crooked sign. It didn't look like much. But the bottom floor would be a café soon. And the top floor would be home.
I looked at Ryan. He hadn't moved. Still closed off. Still guarded.
He didn't know what this place held. What it meant to me.
What it meant to him.
"This is where everything started," I whispered.
"And where everything will unravel."