Chapter 6: Homeward Bound

I bought the earliest Amtrak ticket and felt strangely at ease.

The sun barely up, the Amtrak car rattled over the tracks, the coffee in my cup sloshing dangerously close to the rim. I watched the city fade into cornfields and forest, green and gold patchwork. For once, my heart felt light—like maybe going home could actually mean something.

In eight years, I hadn’t felt this relaxed for even a single day.

I sank into the cracked leather seat, closing my eyes as the gentle rocking soothed me. The rhythm was familiar, almost comforting—a lullaby for grown-ups running from their past.

I watched the scenery outside, chatting and laughing with the young couple in the next seats.

They were newly in love, couldn’t stop touching—fingers tangled, heads close. We traded stories, their laughter infectious. It felt good to belong, if only for a few hours.

The girl grinned, “Hey, you have no idea how hard I chased after him. He had so many girls after him, but I stuck it out for two years. Now I’m taking him to meet my parents.”

Her eyes sparkled. Her boyfriend rolled his eyes, but there was tenderness in the way he squeezed her hand. Their banter made the miles pass faster.

She smiled at me. “You look so happy—are you going home too? I think the wind on the way to see your parents is always sweet!”

Her words caught me off guard. For a split second, I almost believed I was just another traveler, heading home to hugs and warm meals.

I was silent for a moment, then forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m going home too.”

I let the lie hang, unwilling to ruin their happiness. My smile felt stiff, but they didn’t notice. The world kept spinning.

“Going home... to see my parents.”

The words caught in my throat, soft as a prayer. I repeated them, almost like saying it would make it true. My fingers twisted in my lap, holding on tight.

The rest I murmured so softly only I could hear.

A whisper for ghosts, for memories that still hurt. I closed my eyes and let myself drift, carried along by the gentle clatter of the tracks.

But saying it pleased me.

There was something healing in pretending, in the hope that maybe I could still go home. My chest felt a little lighter.

Soon... I’ll be able to see my parents.

For the first time in years, I let myself believe reunion was possible. Maybe in dreams, or memories, I could find them again.

I hummed songs the whole way.

Old country tunes, lullabies Mom used to sing, half-forgotten pop songs from high school. The melody stitched the broken pieces of me together, for a little while.

After getting off the train, I went straight to the place the class president had booked.

A budget motel just outside town, neon sign buzzing in the dusk. I dragged my suitcase across the gravel lot, nerves jangling. The past was waiting on the other side of that door.