SIX YEARS LATER
Six years.Six years since I last set foot in Colter Creek.
The dusty, weathered road stretches ahead, the familiar bumps and dips beneath my tires bringing back memories I thought I’d buried.
I glance over at my son Charlie, who’s leaning against the window, big blue eyes wide with curiosity. He’s a little too quiet for my liking, but I know it’s the curious kind of quiet, not the kind that signals trouble.
“Are we almost there, Mama?”
I swallow hard. This is tougher than I thought it would be.
“Almost, baby. We’ll be there soon.”
I try to smile, but it’s forced. My stomach’s a ball of nerves, and every turn, every mile, feels like it’s pulling me closer to a life I thought I’d left behind forever.
He taps his fingers against the seat, clearly bored, but also clearly trying to make the best of the situation. It’s his way. Charlie’s always been good at adjusting. I wish I could say the same for myself.
“You said your Grandpa left us a house. Are we going to live there?”
His question catches me off guard.
“No, sweetheart. We’re just going to clear it out, maybe sell it. It’s been empty for a long time.”
Charlie’s brow furrows as he stares out the window. I know what’s running through his mind. Why aren’t we going to live there? What’s wrong with it?
I can’t answer him. Not in a way that would make sense to him. Not in a way that would make sense to me.
The truth is, I’ve avoided coming back to Colter Creek for so long because it’s the last tie to a life I couldn’t stomach anymore.
Charlie’s eyes are still fixed on the passing scenery, but he speaks again, quieter this time. “I wish we could live in a house. A real house. Not an apartment.”
His words pierce through me, a reminder of how much I’ve failed him. I’ve given him everything I can, but a part of me knows that he’s missing something only stability can provide.
“I know, baby,” I whisper, my throat tight. “But this house… it will help us get a home of our own. One that we can stay in for a long time, okay? We’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, trying to convince myself as much as him. I need to sell this house. I need the money. The freelance gigs haven’t been enough.
New York was supposed to be my escape, my fresh start. But the city had swallowed me whole, chewed me up, and spit me back out.
Quickly, I found myself pregnant, jobless, and living in an overpriced apartment I could barely afford.
I struggled for years after leaving Colter Creek. Freelance work here and there, not enough to keep a permanent roof over our heads, but enough to make it by. And then there was the constant ache in my chest.
The ache for a place to belong. A place that wasn’t New York City, where I was just another faceless person in a crowd.
That’s why I’m here now. Driving back to the town I thought I’d escaped, to the house my grandfather left me, hoping to find a way out of the mess I’ve made of my life.
We drive in silence for a while, the rhythmic hum of the tires against the road a constant lull. It’s almost comforting. But not quiet enough to drown out the memories, the faces of people I left behind.
When I finally pull into the outskirts of town, Charlie sits up straighter in his seat, his eyes wide with the wonder of small-town life. The faded sign that marks Colter Creek welcomes me like an old, unwanted friend.
“There it is,” I murmur, more to myself than to Charlie.
His gaze flicks between me and the familiar sights of the town. The old diner. The feed store. The dusty main street with the faded wooden signs that could’ve come out of a postcard from the ’50s.
Everything’s exactly the same, and yet it feels different. Like this town’s been waiting for me to come back and finish the story I started.
Charlie leans over and rests his head against my shoulder. I run a hand through his hair, my fingers trembling slightly. “You okay?”
