The next morning, I packed all my belongings and arranged medical transport to pick up my mother from the rehabilitation center.
Before getting in the car, I turned and took one last look at the Kingsport skyline. The morning mist hadn't lifted. The sea shimmered with a dull gray light. This city has held me for 10 years. It was finally time to say goodbye.
After a 15-hour flight, we landed in Los Angeles. My phone was flooded with dozens of messages. Elijah. The station director. A few colleagues I'd been on decent terms with.
I didn't read a single one. First, I had my mother admitted to the hospital I'd arranged. Only after she was settled did I open my phone in the hotel room.
Elijah's messages were pinned at the top. There were seven or eight unread notifications.
Elijah: Freya,
