The sun is just starting to rise as we pull away from the house, and the truck is loaded down with Diana’s things as I help her move across the country. The truck is packed with everything she wanted close by for the long drive-a cooler with water bottles, a bag of snacks, and her phone perpetually in her hand. She’s in the passenger seat, legs crossed, earbuds in, humming along to some pop song I don’t recognize.

I glance over at her as we hit the main road. She’s dressed for the heat in a loose tank top and denim shorts, her hair pulled into a ponytail. She’s always been practical when it comes to traveling, but there’s a nervous energy about her this morning. Her fingers drum against her thigh in time with the music, and she keeps glancing out the window like she’s trying to memorize the scenery.

“You okay?” I ask, breaking the silence.

She pulls out one earbud and looks at me. “Yeah, just… it feels weird, you know? Leaving.”

I nod, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “It’s a big step. But you’re ready for this.”

She gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I don’t press her; she’s always needed time to process things on her own.

The miles roll by, the flat countryside giving way to rolling hills. We stop once for gas and sandwiches, eating in the truck while the radio hums softly in the background. By the time the sun starts to dip low in the sky, we’re pulling into a small roadside motel.

The bright sign buzzes faintly, advertising “Vacancy” in flickering red letters. It’s nothing fancy, just a place to crash before the final leg of the trip. Diana hops out of the truck, stretching her arms over her head, her tank top riding up slightly.

“I’ll grab the bags,” I tell her, heading for the back of the truck.

Inside, the motel smells faintly of bleach and stale air. The clerk at the front desk is a tired-looking man in his fifties who hands me the key with barely a glance. Diana follows me to the room, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor.

Surprisingly, the room has its bedroom upstairs. The living room has a worn-out, stained couch and an old black-and-white TV sitting on a wooden holder.

We go upstairs to see two twin beds in the room, an ugly and broken teardrop by the side of the door, and another small black-and-white TV like the one in the living room. Diana flops onto one of the beds, her arms spread wide.

“Luxury,” she jokes, grinning up at the ceiling.