Joan gripped the wheel.
Nine years earlier, people had found her truck with its door open and assumed the road had swallowed her.
For a long time, Joan herself believed the road belonged to Greg now.
One more thing stolen.
She pressed the accelerator.
The SUV merged into traffic.
Morning sunlight stretched across the pavement.
Mile one.
Then mile two.
Then five.
Joan began to breathe normally.
She passed an exit.
Then another.
Nobody followed.
Nobody ordered her to turn.
Nobody was waiting at the end of the road.
She could stop whenever she wanted.
Keep going whenever she wanted.
Turn left.
Turn right.
