It only took 75 days for the state of Texas to decide that her marriage was truly over. Then, on a Monday morning with a sky too blue to feel like anything had ended, it became official. The courthouse was unimpressive. Square, beige, with narrow windows that filtered in just enough sunlight to remind you what you were missing. Selena walked out with a sealed envelope under her arm, a signed decree, and a finality she couldn't quite wrap her head around.
Her lawyer stood beside her, holding a coffee cup and a half-hearted smile.
"You're free now," he said gently, as if freedom came without consequences.
Selena nodded. "Thank you. For everything."
He extended his hand, and she took it.
She saw Peter one last time as she crossed the parking lot. He was climbing into his car, the same silver sedan she had once picked out for him. He didn't look back. She didn't wave. There was nothing left to say. Just a silent exchange between two people who had shared a life and now walked away from it, separately and deliberately.
Selena slipped into her own car and shut the door behind her. The silence inside felt different this time. She sat for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, her breath catching in her throat. Then, almost without thinking, she reached for her phone and opened the maps app.
New York.
She typed it in.
She stared at the number on the screen, her reflection faint in the glass. Her lips parted, a soft whisper escaping.
26 hours.
"Let's go." She was sure that 26 26-hour drive would take days since she had never driven that long. She already planned in her head that she would enjoy the road, stop when she wanted to, even though it would take weeks.
She filled her tank at a gas station off the main road. The air smelled like motor oil and old cigarettes. After paying at the pump, she bought herself a bottle of water and a pack of gum from the little convenience store. The woman behind the counter barely looked at her.
Back in the car, Selena adjusted the seat, turned the volume down on the music, and pulled onto the highway.
She had no job lined up, no apartment waiting, no plan beyond getting far enough away that nothing familiar could reach her. It was reckless, maybe. But it was hers. For the first time in a long time, every choice was her own.
The miles passed slowly.
Texas bled into Arkansas. The dry, sun-soaked terrain began to shift into green fields and low hills. She stopped occasionally—once for a burger in a town with a single blinking traffic light, once to use a grimy gas station bathroom with a flickering light overhead, once just to cry quietly into the steering wheel when the loneliness hit harder than she expected.
She didn't want to admit it, but the silence had weight. She found herself glancing at her phone every now and then, hoping for a message. Something. Anything.
Jack's name never lit up her screen. And she didn't want to call him either.
Instead, she kept driving.
She stayed at motels when her eyes blurred from exhaustion—cheap places with thin blankets and plastic ice buckets, where the air smelled like mildew and the cable was stuck on news channels.
At night, she lay in unfamiliar beds and stared at ceilings that didn't belong to her. She imagined what her old house looked like now if Peter had changed the furniture, if he slept on their side of the bed, or if he brought someone else into it already.
By the fourth day, she was somewhere in Pennsylvania, her gas tank nearing empty and her stomach grumbling. She had slept the night before in a small roadside motel just off a winding two-lane highway. The bedsheets had smelled faintly of bleach and the window refused to lock.
She walked a few blocks down that morning, drawn by the smell of coffee and the blinking neon sign that read: Sunny Breakfast. The air was crisp, a hint of spring in it. Birds chirped lazily in the distance, and for the first time in weeks, Selena felt like she could breathe.
The café was small but cozy. Booths lined one side, a counter with rotating stools on the other. A waitress with tired eyes and a crooked smile poured her coffee without asking.
"Menu's simple," she said. "Pick whatever makes you feel like the day might not suck."
Selena smiled, more out of politeness than agreement. "Pancakes sound safe."
The waitress scribbled and walked away.
A few minutes later, someone slid into the booth across from her.
She looked up, startled. A woman, early forties maybe, with sharp eyes and curly black hair pulled into a messy bun, smiled brightly.
"Sorry," the woman said. "This place is packed and you looked like you weren't using the whole booth."
Selena blinked. "It's fine."
"I'm Jennette," she said, offering a hand. "I usually don't crash strangers' breakfasts, I swear."
Selena hesitated, then shook her hand. "Selena."
"Well, Selena," Jennette said, looking around. "Are you just passing through, or are you running from something like the rest of us?"
Selena let out a soft laugh, surprised by her own voice. "Running, I think."
Jennette's expression softened. "You don't have that vacation glow."
"I just got divorced."
"Ah." Jennette nodded, sipping from her own mug. "That'll do it."
Selena looked out the window. "I'm on my way to New York. I don't really know why. Just… needed to go somewhere."
Jennette leaned back. "Well, turns out I live in New York. Born and raised. Moved back a few years ago with my husband to start a little business."
Selena raised an eyebrow. "What kind of business?"
"Laundry service. Small shop in Queens. We just opened a second location downtown. Still scrappy, still learning the ropes, but it's ours."
Something about the pride in her voice made Selena smile. "That sounds… stable."
Jennette chuckled. "Well, some days it is. Some days I want to light every washing machine on fire. But it keeps us going."
She paused, studying Selena's face. "You got somewhere to stay once you get there?"
Selena hesitated. "Not really. I figured I'd find something when I arrived. Maybe a short-term rental. Or a place that doesn't ask too many questions."
Jennette sipped her coffee again. "Tell you what, I'll introduce you to my husband. We've been talking about hiring someone part-time. He hates folding. Like, passionately."
Selena blinked, caught off guard. "Are you serious?"
Jennette shrugged. "Why not? You seem like someone who needs a fresh start. I've been there."
For a moment, Selena didn't know what to say. No one had offered her help without an angle in a long time. No strings. No judgment. Just kindness.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Jennette grinned. "Don't thank me yet. Folding socks at 6 a.m. might make you rethink your whole journey."
They both laughed. And just like that, something loosened in Selena's chest.