Chapter 23

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I ignored the Welcome to Canada sign as I passed. I had been walking for days without stopping, and I wasn't going to stop until civilization was a far-off speck. I didn't know how far I was going to walk. I didn't know where I was going to stop. I didn't know when I was going to stop.

I didn't know anything, except that I was going to find somewhere where no one was, a corner of the world that was uninhabited. The sun was painting the sky in pinks and oranges, but I kept going. Eventually, I came across an old, dusty, abandoned cabin. It was twilight, now. Approaching the door, I pulled out a knife for protection, creeping inside.

Nothing alive was in there except for a rat or two. Dust coated everything, and all the furniture was moth-eaten. I figured I could shelter here for now.

I dropped my bag to the floor, closing the door. All of a sudden, a wave of grief and hurt and pain and guilt washed over me, so powerful it pushed me against the door. I sank to the door, tears streaming down my face as memories I long thought gone pushed their way to the surface.

Phrases swirled around in my head, but one stood out among the rest.

Empathy.

That single word caused the world to fall silent. And my heart shattered. But there was no noise. That was one of the strange things about life.

There was no sound for a shattered heart.

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