Chapter 1: Road to Nowhere

The town road had been falling apart for years, so the neighbors decided to pool their money to fix it. I put in $150,000, covering the lion’s share of the cost. It wasn’t charity—I wanted my parents to have what everyone else did. And maybe, for once, to feel like we belonged.

I remember running my hand along the cracked old pavement, feeling the grit under my fingers, picturing how good it would be to finally see that patchwork mess replaced. I put up more than anyone—way more. At the Fourth of July picnic, people joked about naming the street after me. But none of that mattered in the end.

In the end, the new road plan didn’t even include my house.

The town manager said, “The road belongs to everyone, and where it gets built is up to everyone to decide. Derek, you’re misunderstanding me. You really need me to drive all the way out there for a road meeting?”

He sat in his office with that bland, practiced smile, hands folded on a manila folder stuffed with town paperwork. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t just build it to your front door—I’d run it right into your garage.”

I just smiled back, keeping it light. No way I’d let him see how pissed off I was. It was that kind of smile you give when you know the deck’s stacked, but you’re not about to fold.

Every house got the road built right up to their front porch. Even the town manager’s chicken coop and dog run got a stretch of new asphalt—but not my house.

The new blacktop gleamed in front of every home, from Miss Lila’s yellow cottage to the Sanders’ backyard gate—hell, even the faded swing set on the Miller’s side yard had a perfect patch. But when I pulled up to my parents’ place, there was nothing but dust and ruts. Not one inch of that new road came close.

Fine. If that’s how they want to play it.

The next day, I packed up my whole family and left. If I’m not getting a road, I’m not paying. Let the town road fall apart for all I care.

I loaded up the SUV at dawn, coffee still hot in the cup holder. The dog whined, sensing the tension. We drove past the freshly painted mailbox posts, past the neighbors’ curious stares, past the flag snapping on the pole by the volunteer firehouse. I didn’t look back.