Why Does The Protagonist In 'A Curve In The Road' Make That Choice?

When I'm having dinner at home, I find out that my childhood sweetheart, Drew Calloway, has given up on the opportunity to get promoted to the northern military camp for the sake of my cousin, Brynn Jeffries. "Brynn can only attend a local college because of her SAT results. It so happens that Mrs. Ward is in poor health as well. I've already filled in the details on your college form, Lena. We'll both stay here." My mom goes along with the flow. "That's right. I promised your uncle that I'd take good care of Brynn, so you must help me take care of her too. You should forget about Northgate University, seeing as it's useless to pursue an education there. When you marry Drew in the future, you'll be a military wife who stays in the military camp with him." Before I can say anything, Brynn's eyes well up with tears. She starts crying as though she's the one feeling aggrieved. "It's my fault for being useless. My parents are no longer around. Because of that, Lena can't attend her dream university. You should just leave me be. I'm fine staying here all by myself." As soon as Brynn starts crying, Drew and Mom fly into a state of panic and start comforting her. As for me, I rise to my feet and return to my room quietly. Thankfully, I'm able to change my desired institution back to Northgate University one second before the deadline. Honestly speaking, the reason I want to attend Northgate University isn't just so that I can be closer to Drew in terms of distance. I also wish to watch the heavy snowfall with him. If we walk together in the snow with snowflakes covering our heads, it symbolizes the possibility of us spending the rest of our lives together till we're old and gray. Well, it doesn't matter who's standing next to me when I watch the snowfall now. My only wish is that I must watch the snowfall no matter what.

By the seventh year of my engagement to Tristan, he postponed our wedding for the third time. The reason was simple. His childhood sweetheart, Gabriella, had returned to the country. She had just gone through a divorce and was emotionally unstable. Tristan personally retrieved every invitation we had sent out, his tone calm and steady. "Gabby has no one by her side right now. I can't upset her at a time like this." I held the ring that had already been resized twice and asked, "What about me?" Tristan glanced at me. "You're different. You're sensible." I had been hearing that word for seven years. Sensible. When his startup failed, I sold the old house my grandmother had left me to help him pay off his debts. When he suffered a gastric hemorrhage, I stayed at the hospital for three days straight and missed my own promotion defense. When his mother said my background was too ordinary for him, he only rubbed his temples and said, "Tori, don't make this difficult for me." Every time, I nodded. He once told me that no matter how thick the fog became, he would always leave a light on for me. Until the day Gabriella stood in front of the mirror wearing my wedding dress and smiled as she asked, "Victoria, you don't mind, do you? Tristan said your wedding's being postponed anyway." Tristan stood behind her. He did not deny it. He even reached out and adjusted her veil for her. The fog lamp he had given me with his own hands sat by the display window of the bridal shop. It was still lit, illuminating someone else in the white dress I had waited seven years to wear. Only then did I realize that some roads were not lost because the fog was too thick. It was because he had never planned to come for me at all.

On the heavy traffic road rushing my father to the hospital due to a cerebral hemorrhage, we ran into my husband, who was directing traffic as a police officer. My mother was about to wind the window down and beg him for help, but I immediately stopped her and decisively turned the steering wheel, taking a narrow side road instead. In my previous life, at this exact situation, after a brief moment of hesitation, my husband had chosen to clear a path for us and personally escorted my father to the hospital. That very night, his childhood sweetheart, out of spite because he hadn't answered her calls, turned on the gas and killed herself. He seemed utterly unaffected by her death. He even organized a welcome-home party for my father when he was discharged from the hospital. But on the day of the party, he poisoned every dish on the table. "It's because of you and your damn father! If it weren't for you, Rosalin wouldn't have killed herself! You're the ones who drove her to death! You should pay for her life!" When I opened my eyes once more, I had returned to the day my father collapsed. This time, my husband answered the phone. Without a second thought, he ran to his childhood sweetheart. Yet, why had he still come to regret it?

A blizzard had buried the mountain, turning every road into a death trap. Locals called it Deadman's Pass—seventy-two icy switchbacks with zero room for error. As the only person who had ever made it through without a scratch, I'd just gotten a million-dollar rescue call from beyond the final curve. Ten years ago, I went there once. My seventeen-year-old daughter, Maya, was skydiving with her classmates when a violent air current forced an emergency landing. The rescue came too late. She died there. Later, I learned my husband, Jayden Boone, had ignored Maya's safety. He poured hundreds of thousands of dollars into the rescue effort and redirected every team to save his ex's daughter instead. The girl had only sprained her ankle on a hiking trip. The day Maya died, I walked away from my career as a professor and stayed here, living as a broke driver. I risked my life running Deadman's Pass again and again until I knew every turn by heart. In the ten years since, no one else had died on that road. Today, a friend shoved a million-dollar rescue job in front of me and told me to leave right away. I looked at the face in the photo—the one I could never forget. Then I smiled and tossed my keys onto the table. "I can't take this job."

My fiancé presented two engagement rings—one for me, one for my sister to choose first. The first was a three-carat fancy pink diamond, flown in from Antwerp, the kind that made dealers go quiet. The second was a plain platinum band, standard issue, the sort you buy off the tray as a backup. For the first time in my life, I pointed at the pink diamond. "I'll choose first this time." Dante Moretti ran his hand through my hair, the way you soothe a restless dog. "Eleanor, you know Grace has always been particular. If she can't have the best, she'd rather have nothing. You've never cared about any of this. The other one is fine." I didn't answer. My chest felt hollow. We'd grown up together—his father ran the West Coast territory, mine the East. But in Dante's eyes, I'd always been the second daughter, the one who got what Grace didn't want. Every summer, he'd cut watermelon and bring the first plate to Grace. She'd take the center slice—sweetest, seedless, deepest red. He'd push the rest toward me—the pale pink near the rind. "This part's still good. Just not as sweet." When he bought his first Maserati, Grace picked the front seat—less motion sickness. He gestured at the back. "A little tight, but you can pick either side." Even our love was secondhand. He'd loved Grace first. She chose her academic career over him. So Dante, wounded and restless, came to me. In his world, Grace was always the first choice. I looked at the platinum band and pushed it across the table. "Give them both to Grace. I don't want either."

On the day of our graduation trip, my boyfriend, Josiah Holt, and my childhood friend, Meredith Sloan, leave me behind at a highway rest stop. They drive for half an hour before realizing that I am missing. When Josiah calls me, there is no panic in his voice, only impatience. "Calliope, why didn't you get in the car? Stop messing around. We're rushing to catch the sunset. We can't turn back for you. Just take a taxi and catch up with us yourself." Through the phone, Meredith's voice comes through clearly. "She's not a child. You can't expect to take care of her forever, can you?" In the past, I would have apologized with tears in my eyes. Then I would drag my luggage along and do everything I could to catch up with them. But this time, as I stare at the gray-blue sky outside the rest stop, I suddenly no longer want to chase after them. I cancel all the hotels I have booked for the rest of the trip. Then, I change my ticket and head to a seaside town I have always wanted to visit—the one they always dismissed as boring. From this moment on, the world is my oyster. I finally set out on my own journey, no longer trailing after anyone.