The Long Way Home

Elena had been running for forty-five minutes when she finally stopped, her chest heaving, sweat slicking her hair against her neck. The kind of run you go on when your life has just fallen apart — not exercise, but escape.

Three hours ago, she'd walked in on Marcus with his assistant. Not even a good lie. Just. There.

Now here she was, on some trail she'd never noticed before, somewhere between her old life and whatever came next. Her phone buzzed in her pocket — him, probably, or maybe her mother asking why she wasn't at Sunday dinner. She let it ring.

A golden retriever appeared from nowhere, trotting alongside her with that easy, practiced companionship that only dogs seem to master. No collar. Just a calm brown eyes and a tail that said, I know, I know.

"You too, huh?" she said, bending to scratch behind its ears. The dog leaned into her hand, and for some reason, that small gesture — the trust, the simplicity — almost broke her more than the apartment had.

They walked together for ten minutes before the trail opened into a neighborhood she'd never seen. Modest houses, well-kept gardens. A woman on a porch called out, "Buster! There you are, you old wanderer."

The dog — Buster — gave Elena one last look, almost apologetic, before loping home.

"Found him?" the woman asked.

Elena nodded. "Yeah. He seemed to know exactly where he was going."

The woman smiled. "They usually do. We're the ones who get lost."

Elena stood there for a long moment. The sun was setting now, painting the sky in impossible pinks and oranges — the kind of beauty that feels almost cruel when everything hurts.

She took a deep breath. Pulled out her phone. Eighteen missed calls, three texts that started with "I can explain."

She didn't open them. Instead, she deleted them. All of them.

Then she opened Maps, entered her sister's address — the one in Portland, the one she'd been ignoring for three years — and started walking toward the main road where she could catch a rideshare.

Not running anymore. Walking. The kind of walk that knows exactly where it's going.