The highway stretched long and quiet beneath the car tires, a steady hum filling the space around Oliver. The twins shifted inside him now and then—gentle, occasional reminders that he wasn’t alone, even when everything else in his life had been stripped down to silence and momentum. 

He drove with the windows halfway down, letting in the warm July breeze and the scent of dry grass and distant trees. His phone sat in the cup holder with the GPS voice off—he’d memorized the last hour of the route by now. Every turn, every split in the road was a step toward something new.

North Bridge.

It was the name he kept circling back to in his search, not just because of the affordable apartments and good clinics, but because it felt like a place untouched by his past. A quiet town with clean sidewalks, hanging flower baskets on storefronts, and the kind of grocery store that carried everything from fresh bread to conversation.

He made two stops on the way: one at a rest area to stretch and sip water, the other at a diner for something hot and small. The waitress asked if he was moving, and he gave her a polite nod, not ready to explain.

The moving truck was sent ahead of time and notified the landlord, just in case they arrived before I did. The door lock was a passcode type of entry, which is good that way I can just give them the passcode to the movers if they arrive before me. I can just change the passcode after I arrive.

As he approached the town line, his heart beat a little faster. The sign came into view—“Welcome to North Bridge”—painted in crisp green with white letters, a small wooden bridge icon beside it. It was real now. No turning back.

A new start for us. Oliver though as he stroked his baby bump.

The roads here were smoother. Slower. Houses with white porches and window boxes dotted the side streets. He passed a post office, a hardware store, and finally, the apartment complex—a newer set of brick buildings with white trim and neatly kept lawns. It was just as the listing had shown, but somehow quieter in person. Like it respected the weight of what he carried.

Fortunately, the landlord had the first floor vacancy. I'm glad there's no more stairs.

The moving truck was already parked out front when he arrived. The crew, two men in their forties, greeted him with easy smiles and got to work while he unlocked the apartment. I'm surprised they waited until I arrived. The landlord had sent him the instructions on how to change the passcode that morning.

Inside, the apartment was plain but clean. Cream walls. Wood floors. Big windows that let in light from the east-facing street. As Oliver stepped in, he felt the urge to sit on the floor and just breathe.

This was his. No one told him what color the curtains should be. No one questioned what he was carrying. There was space here—to rest, to grow, to begin again. Hopefully, no one to follow him either.

While the movers unloaded the furniture and boxes he’d carefully packed, Oliver walked slowly through each room. He ran his fingers along the empty kitchen counter, stood in the doorway of what would be the nursery, and finally, opened the windows wide.

The air in North Bridge smelled like beginnings. And for the first time in a long time, Oliver didn’t feel like he was running away.

He was arriving.