Slowly, I exhale, the breath leaving me heavier than it should, then I reach for the door handle. The cold hits me first when I step out of my car. It’s wonderfully clean and carries the smell of pine and earth. It fills my lungs differently than city air ever did. The air here is lighter and refreshing.
The small-town quiet settles around me almost immediately. As much as I’ve missed it, the stillness is still unnerving.
Closing the car door behind me, I move towards the house. The sound of the door thudding shut echoes briefly before it’s swallowed by the night. My boots crunch against the gravel, and even though each step feels steady and deliberate, the strange knot of nerves and anticipation in my chest says otherwise. I’m on the rollercoaster’s ascent of the hill before the freefal
