“You are?” I asked.
He nodded and smiled. “And, you know, I won’t think anything less of you if you’re not Becca Thorne, international bestseller. In fact, I think I might think more of you . . .just like this.”
I looked down at myself. “Just like this?” I asked.
He took a step closer to me. “Exactly like this.”
I looked up at the tree as a pigeon flew into it and cooed. I smiled to myself; it looked exactly like the birds from the eco estate.Just like this.I sighed, but it wasn’t a pained, torturous sigh. It was the sigh of a person letting go. There was relief in that sigh. Acceptance. And, you know what? For the first time since starting this journey, I also kind of liked myself, just the way I was. I’d finally done the right thing. The only thing.
“What now?” Mike asked. “Do we go back home?”
I put my hands in my pockets and looked at the ground again. “No,” I finally looked up and said. “There is another good thing I can still do today.” I pulled the small piece of paper out of my wallet.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“An address.” I held it up for him to see.
“Whose address?” he asked.
I looked down at it and stroked the piece of paper in my hands. “My story might end here, but I know of another story that doesn’t have to,” I said, walking back towards the road.
