My dad's old truck sat in my driveway. It wasn't just a vehicle; it was a time capsule. The smell of his pipe tobacco was still in the upholstery, ten years after he'd passed. A coffee stain on the console from a road trip we took when I was sixteen. And now, because of a job three thousand miles away, I had to put it on a truck and hope.
I stood there with a knot in my stomach so tight I...
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