The hardest part was coming back. Things remained mostly unchanged, but somehow they seemed better every time.

Hannah had painted the front fence white, that was new. The pine wood panels, once worn out and tired, now stood proudly around the quaint house. There was something about white fences that screamed doing well over here to me.

Year after year, the gap between Hannah and me had been steadily widening. She was the one who stayed, yet it was her life that was moving. The husband, the baby, the white fence.

When I left, I didn’t believe I had that in me. Embracing a settled life, starting a family. I felt it so strongly, the need to leave, to be successful, to leave my mark. What does success mean anyway?

“Mr Adams, your car is waiting. I put your passport and boarding pass in your bag as usual. Is there anything else you need?”

“Thanks Laura, no that’d be all. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

On my way to the airport, I wonder what I’ll find this time. Maybe a swing in the front yard. What mundane development will make think: that could have been me.

Only if I didn’t leave.