I am the one who is still running, even now that I’m standing still. I think about that house every day. I think about the keypad by the door. I think about what she said.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe the running is the real punishment. Or maybe it’s the only thing that kept me from losing my mind entirely.

I don’t know anymore. I just know that when I left that kitchen, I didn’t look back. I haven’t looked back since.