“I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but I’ll always carry you with me.”
I touched the locket at my throat.
“Wish me luck.”
By 2:00, I was on the interstate heading south, my GPS set for Rose’s address in Florida.
The further I drove from my old life, the lighter I felt.
I’d never been particularly adventurous.
Teaching elementary school in the same town for 35 years wasn’t exactly the life of a thrill-seeker.
But now, at 65, I was embarking on the most daring adventure of my life.
I thought about Stuart discovering my absence on Sunday.
He and Jennifer would arrive at 5, expecting to find me preparing dinner, ready to be convinced about Cedar Grove.
Instead, they would find new owners and my letter.
What would his reaction be?
Anger, certainly.
Disbelief, probably.
Perhaps even concern, though I suspected that would be more about the lost inheritance than about my welfare.
I pushed the thoughts away.
Stuart’s feelings were no longer my primary concern.
For decades, I had prioritized his needs, his wants, his convenience.
I had shaped my life around being available for him, even as he grew increasingly dismissive of me.
That chapter was closed.
I stopped for the night at a modest hotel in Virginia.
After checking in, I called Rose to update her on my progress.
“I’m about halfway there,” I told her. “Should arrive sometime tomorrow evening if traffic cooperates.”
“I can’t wait to see you,” Rose said warmly. “I’ve made up the guest room and there’s a welcome dinner planned with some neighbors. You’re going to love it here, Inz.”
“I’m sure I will,” I replied, surprised at how much I meant it.
After hanging up, I sat on the edge of the hotel bed, suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of what I’d done.
I’d left my home, my community, my entire life behind.
I was driving toward an uncertain future in a place where I knew exactly one person.
For a moment, doubt crept in.
Was I being reckless?
Should I have confronted Stuart instead of disappearing?
Was I running away rather than standing my ground?
I took out Robert’s journal and opened it to an entry I’d discovered during my packing.
May 10th, 2010.
Inz gives too much of herself. Always has. To her students, to the community, to Stuart. Everyone takes and takes, and she keeps giving. I worry what will happen to her when I’m gone. Who will look after her interests when she’s too busy looking after everyone else’s?
I closed the journal, a sense of resolve replacing my doubts.
I wasn’t running away.
I was finally, after all these years, putting myself first.
Robert would have approved.
Sunday arrived, and at precisely 5:00, I checked my watch, imagining the scene unfolding hundreds of miles away.
Stuart and Jennifer pulling into the driveway, perhaps noticing the different car parked there but not thinking much of it.
Stuart using his key only to find it didn’t work in the lock anymore.
Their confusion when strangers answered the door.
The shock when they were handed my letter.
By now, Stuart would be reading my words, finally understanding that his carefully laid plans had backfired spectacularly.
The house he coveted was sold.
The mother he’d dismissed as useless and incompetent had outmaneuvered him completely.
As I drove the final stretch toward my new life in Florida, I felt no malice toward my son, only a profound sadness for what our relationship had become.
But beneath that sadness was something stronger, a fierce determination to reclaim my remaining years, to live them on my own terms.