Page 125 of Truck Up

The kid looks up at me and quickly hides behind his dad like he’s just now noticing I’m here. “He’s a stranger. No talking to strangers.”

His dad chuckles. “Yeah, normally you’d be right. But it’s okay when you’re with your parents.”

“Oh.” The boy stares at me for a few more seconds before he takes off and runs toward the treeline. He finds a stick and pretends it’s a sword. Apparently, he’s already forgotten about the stranger.

“Short attention span with that one. And always on the run.” The man turns to me, his smile wide and bright. “Do you have any kids?”

“Not yet,” I say, and it feels like a lie. The baby isn’t here yet, but it’s coming whether I’m ready or not.

My chest tightens, a suffocating pressure building behind my ribs. Watching the little boy, his laughter echoing through the clearing, a strange ache blossoms in my chest. It’s a familiar ache, a longing I haven’t acknowledged in years.

I don’t want much from this world. Solitude, mostly.

And Amelia.

That’s the only constant, the one unwavering desire that anchors me.

Amelia.

But watching this family, their happiness radiating out like warmth from a fire, a new yearning stirs within me. A yearning for something I thought I’d long since buried—a yearning for belonging, for connection.

This is a stark reminder of the emptiness that has defined my life.

But can I truly have this? Can I ever hope to find that kind of joy, that kind of effortless love? The thought is both terrifying and exhilarating, a fragile seed of hope taking root in the barren wasteland of my soul.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from your family outing,” I say. “I just stopped to rest before I head back home.”

“It’s fine.” The man waves at me as I turn back toward my bike. “Enjoy your ride.”

I nod slowly, the morning sun a pale ghost on my face. It feels good on my skin, a fleeting warmth against the chill that’s settled deep within me.

I feel a little better, a sliver of relief breaking through the gloom, but it’s not enough. Not enough to quell the fear that gnaws at me, not enough to offer any real hope for the future.

Until Amelia decides we have a future together, until she chooses me, this fragile sense of peace will crumble. It’s already happening.

Is this what destroyed Mom? Her love for Dad, a one-sided lifetime of devotion, met only with indifference. The rejection, the crushing weight of unrequited love, must have been unbearable. Her answer was turning to drugs, seeking solace in a fleeting oblivion, a desperate escape from the pain that consumed her.

“Fuck,” I whisper, the word catching in my throat.

It all makes sense now, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place. Drugs wipe out the pain, numb the soul, offer a temporary escape from the suffocating weight of despair. When depression reigns supreme, that escape becomes an irresistible siren song.

And I, standing here in the cold morning air, feel that siren song calling to me, a dangerous temptation whispering promises of oblivion.

If someone offered me that escape, I don’t know if I could resist.

The thought terrifies me, chills me to the bone.

This isthe last place I should be, a magnet for self-destruction. I’m drawn to Mom like a moth to a flame, drawn to the comforting illusion of solace, even though I know it’s a dangerous game.

When I’m spiraling, when the darkness threatens to consume me, I always run to Mom.

Low. Lost. Ready to give up.

It’s a ritual, a deeply ingrained pattern, and a desperate attempt to find comfort in the familiar embrace of addiction.

My hand hovers over the door handle, a tremor running through my fingers. If I cross this threshold, if I succumb to the call of easy comfort, I risk losing myself completely. I can’t do this to Amelia, to our unborn child. I can’t allow myself to be weak, to give in to the insidious pull of my mother’s addiction.

I take a step back, the cool morning air a stark contrast to the fear that grips me. I need to break this destructive cycle, to finally break free from the chains of my past. Instead of running to Mom, maybe I need to run to Amelia, my anchor in the storm, my beacon of hope.