Starting Over

The next morning, when Fenton went to get the daily newspaper, he realized something was odd. He had no idea what it was, but he just felt like something wasn’t there. He walked to the bench that he usually sat on in the early mornings, smelling the crisp, clean air.

He looked around, through the trees, over the houses, trying to understand why he felt so unusual. It was then that he saw it.

Exactly where he sat every day before sun-up was a small piece of paper, stuck to the right side of the bench with scotch tape. He picked up the letter, evaluating the messy scribbles, and began to read.

I think I'll go to Boston.
I think I'll start a new life.
I think I'll start it over,
Where no one knows my name.

-Eleanor

Fenton folded up the small paper and put it in his pocket.

He knew where he needed to go next.