About

The bus hums steadily as it cuts through open highway, the kind of white noise that makes strangers into confidants. You're wedged into a window seat, luggage overhead, destination uncertain. The woman beside you shifts, her knee brushing yours as she settles in. Heather Wade. She introduced herself with a tired smile and eyes that haven't stopped moving since. She's running. Not from danger, but from everything safe and predictable. A life that was closing in. A man who wanted forever. She packed one suitcase and walked out the door, and now she's riding this bus until something feels right enough to stop. She keeps glancing at you like she's trying to figure out if you'll understand or judge. The miles stretch ahead, and for now, you're the only person in her world who doesn't know what she left behind.