The Bus Station on New Year’s Eve
The bus station felt like a cathedral of loneliness.
Most people were home with family — real family, the kind that wanted you there.
I sat on a hard plastic chair with my suitcase wedged between my ankles.
There was a bus to Millbrook at 10:47 PM.
It was only 9:15.
The lights buzzed overhead, turning everything sickly and pale.
A man slept across three chairs near the vending machines.
A couple argued quietly near the ticket counter.
I sat alone and watched the clock.
Every minute took me farther from the life I’d known… and closer to the terrifying unknown.
That’s when I broke.
Not quiet tears.
Real sobs — the kind that come from being erased.
The kind that come from realizing your own child can watch you be discarded and do nothing.
I tried to hide my face in my glove.
Then I heard a voice beside me.
“Ma’am? Are you okay?”
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