It started small. Weird little worries. Like mountain lions sneaking up to the porch if we stayed out too late or giantbranches from the tall trees around the house falling on us in our sleep. Every little thing became a threat. Soon, she barely stepped off the kitchen tiles she clung to for safety. Things got even worse after I left. Jasper would drop hints on the phone, mentioning how the world outside had become a place Mom didn’t feel safe in anymore. And without me there to push her out of her comfort zone, she stopped leaving altogether.
I shouldn’t blame Jasper even though I want to. Jasper, my younger brother, has always been the quiet one, the artist. He’s built his own following now with his nature art, his work spreading like wildfire on social media, even if no one’s ever seen his face. Hands shaping pinecones and leaves into incredible landscapes. He’s the type who could stay tucked in the mountains forever.
That’s never been me. I wanted more than endless days of crisp mountain air, more than long afternoons sipping sweet tea on the back porch. I wanted city lights, my name in bold letters, and the rush of an electric life beyond the trees and the solitude. I wanted it all—wantit all.
My heart clenches when I picture Dad’s face. The quiet strength in his eyes, the unshakeable calm in his presence. Those strong hands, the ones that lifted me up each time I tripped over tree roots or scraped my knee on a rocky trail. The hands that built our home, piece by piece, carrying far more than lumber from the mill. Those hands have held our family together through everything.
I blink back tears, taking a sip of my skinny vanilla latte to steady myself. Life in LA has been a kind of escape, a place where I don’t have to deal with my family’s overwhelming fears and vices.
A tear escapes down my cheek. I swipe it away before anyone notices.
Then, I hear an excited voice nearby.
"Oh my gosh! Are you Elowen Donovan?"
I swallow hard and manage a smile as I turn to see a teenage girl with braces, practically bouncing with excitement.
"You are!" she squeals. "My name is Sophie. Can I get your autograph?"
"Yeah, of course," I say, forcing my tone to stay light as I grip my coffee in one hand and scribble my name in her notebook.
"Thank you so much!" she gushes, eyes bright. "Can I ask for one more thing?"
"Sure," I say, though my heart feels a little heavier.
"Can we take a selfie?"
Igive her a reassuring smile. "Yeah."
Her mom offers to hold my coffee, and I fix my hair, running a hand over my chestnut locks to make sure they’re set just right. Sophie holds up her phone, her face glowing as we snap the selfie.
"The girls at school are never going to believe this," she says with a huge grin. "Thank you so much."
"You’re welcome." I try to keep steady and calm, but there’s a strange ache in my chest as I watch her scroll through the photos, a sparkle in her eyes.
Her mom hands back my coffee, leaning in to say softly, "She’s had a rough time lately."
I nod, knowing all too well. Mean girls in high school aren’t so different from mean girls in my world, just more polished and a lot more public.
"Hey," I say to Sophie as they announce my flight is finally boarding. "High school ends. Your sparkle doesn’t, unless you let it."
Her eyes light up, and she steps forward, looking shy but hopeful. "I won’t."
I used to think moments like this were the whole point. Being recognized. Being loved by strangers. But right now, I’d trade all of it to have Mom meet me at the gate.
"Where are you headed?" Sophie asks as the loud speaker announces my red eye is boarding.
I hesitate, tasting the word before I say it. "Home." Heavy, carrying everything I’ve tried to leave behind.
Then, I fall into line with the other passengers, my heart pounding as we inch our way down the jetway. Soon, I’ll be in the one place I’ve spent the last three years running from.
I guess I’m not running anymore.
And that makes it feel surreal. This isn’t how I pictured going back. Not in a rush, not with a sense of dread curling in my chest. I should be going back for a visit, for a holiday, for something ordinary and sweet.
But instead, I’m racing against time. Racing to see Dad, hoping I haven’t waited too long.
And all I can do now is hope I make it in time.
