Can’t. Truck broke down near Rawlins. I’m sorry.
She laughed, a dry, cracked sound. It was the most honest conversation she’d had all year. The GPS wasn’t mocking her; it was just stating facts. She was always searching for him. Always recalculating her life around his exits. Searching for- Your Daddy Ditched Me Again in-
“Searching for- Your Daddy Ditched Me Again in- ...point six miles, stay straight.” Can’t
She looked up. There was no diner, no motel, no truck stop. Just a wide pull-off overlooking a frozen river, the moonlight turning the snow into a field of diamonds. The road ended here. She laughed, a dry, cracked sound
Her phone buzzed. Not a call. A text.
Your Daddy Ditched Me Again, she thought. And for the first time, the sentence didn't end with a question mark. It ended with a period.
The GPS voice was unnervingly cheerful. "Recalculating. Searching for- Your Daddy Ditched Me Again in- ...four hundred feet, turn left."