Before sunrise, I left Alabama.
I sent my parents one message.
I’m alive. Don’t contact me.
Then I drove west.
Ingred welcomed me at her orchard four days later.
She gave me seasonal work and a place to stay.
For the first time in years, I lived somewhere nobody asked me to disappear.
The work was demanding.
Long days.
Early mornings.
Weather that could destroy weeks of effort overnight.
But I loved it.
I became particularly good at grafting old trees.
Ingred noticed.
Eventually, she offered me a permanent position with health insurance.
I found a therapist.
Made friends.
And slowly stopped feeling guilty whenever I occupied space.
I even started seeing a mechanic named Callum, who worked on the orchard equipment.
He knew almost nothing about my family.
That was surprisingly peaceful.
Four years passed.
My family didn’t find me because they’d spent years searching.
