I chose the open road over a closed heart, and every mile away from him feels like freedom. For too long, I stayed in a space that shrank me, convincing myself that it was love when it was really just comfort—a familiarity that held me back. The betrayal was painful, yes, but it also cracked open a door I hadn’t dared to approach before.

The first step was the hardest. Leaving behind the place we called home felt like tearing a chapter out of a book, unfinished and unresolved. But with my suitcase in hand, I stepped into the unknown. It was terrifying, but it was also exhilarating. The road stretched out in front of me, endless and full of promise.

I’ve driven through golden deserts at sunrise, the sky ablaze with possibility. I’ve stood on cliffs overlooking endless oceans, their waves crashing against rocks as if to cheer me on. Every destination feels like a piece of myself I’m rediscovering. I’ve cried in cheap motels and danced under open skies, my emotions as raw and expansive as the landscapes around me.

The miles aren’t just distance; they’re healing. They remind me that life isn’t static, and neither am I. The open road has become my sanctuary, a place where I’m free to grow, to dream, and to love—this time, starting with myself.