A young woman–she considers herself young but really, she’s in her mid-thirties, not young, not old–leaves her family and heads to an island to be alone for several days. Not a tropical island, a northern island in autumn. She leaves because she cannot think clearly with little ones about her feet, with the man who has hurt her living beside her, pouring cereal, clicking the remote, changing diapers.
She gets on a plane, then into a rental car, and drives three hours through farm fields and balsam fir forests, crossing the Atlantic on a miles-long bridge. She arrives, tires on land, but there are no reservations. No itinerary. Only a childhood novel beside her in the passenger seat.
True STORIES. 
Heartwarming and very well written
Thanks very much.
Really good, and I’d like more. Thrilled for you that you’re getting all of these opportunities to write.
Thanks, Krista!
I’ve been meaning to say how much I like this a couple of days ago. I appreciate that it’s short for a reason, but I love the honesty of it, and I wanted to see more. Good work, as usual, my friend. 🙂
Very much appreciated, Regina. Thanks. 🙂
l liked the ending, the way it made me wonder, what did he want, not that it was relevant, but it left me wanting more. And ditto what K above said.
Thanks, Brenda! I’m glad it made you wonder; I wanted the ending to do that, though it is the actual ending. There’s no more to tell.