Jesse stood on the cracked sidewalk outside his childhood home, one hand resting on the handle of an overstuffed suitcase, the other clutching a key he wouldn’t need anymore.

The “SOLD” sign on the front lawn still didn’t feel real.

The town of Marlowe had always been small. One high school. One diner. One overworked mayor who also ran the hardware store. It was the kind of place where people measured time by seasons, Friday night football games, and who had the biggest Christmas lights.

It was also the place Jesse swore he’d never leave.

But life has its own plans.

His mom had passed six months ago, and the house—full of old floor creaks and sunlit memories—was too much for just one person. College was calling two states away, and somewhere deep down, Jesse knew staying would only let the grief settle in like dust.

Still, the leaving hurt.

His best friend, Mariah, stood by the mailbox, trying not to cry. She was the only one who understood him without him having to speak.

“You packed everything?” she asked.

“Yeah. Except the parts I can’t fit in a bag.”

She forced a smile and handed him a small envelope. “Don’t open it till you’re gone.”

He nodded, throat tight.

They hugged the kind of hug you only give when you know something is really ending.

As Jesse boarded the old Greyhound bus, the driver gave a lazy nod. Jesse took a window seat near the back, pressed his forehead to the glass, and watched Mariah get smaller and smaller as the town blurred by.

The diner. The high school. The water tower with peeling blue paint.

And finally, the last streetlight—right where Main Street faded into highway.

He waited a few miles before opening the envelope.

Inside was a photo of the two of them, taken at the lake last summer. On the back, she’d written:

“Home isn’t always a place. Sometimes it’s just someone who remembers you.”

Jesse smiled through his tears.

Marlowe was behind him now. But maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t leaving it all behind.