We will talk when you are home.
Mom
I read it three times.
Then I added one sentence.
Please do not tell the children I left because of them. I did not.
That mattered more than anything else.
I locked the front door from the inside, walked out through the garage, pressed the button, and stepped beneath the lowering door.
Four years of my life disappeared behind beige metal panels.
I followed the moving truck in a rental car.
Halfway to the apartment, my phone rang.
For one wild moment, I thought Daniel had somehow discovered what I had done.
But the screen showed another name.
Linda Herrera.
I nearly laughed.
Linda had been my closest friend since I moved to Arizona. We met at a community art class where neither of us had shown any talent whatsoever.
