My hand clenched the throttle, the motorcycle revving beneath me, eager to start moving.
Every roar of the engine made me think of another moment in this house, the big ones like my birthdays and Valentine’s Days, and the small ones, the quiet nights under a rug with a bad movie to make fun of, the little notes on my lunches.
I could stay, I told myself. Just one more day, maybe, and it’ll all be ok.
But I had to leave. Had to do it. Today. Now.
I drove out onto the road, her ashes safe in my backpack.