The Road Not Taken Novels & Stories

“Is that what you want, Margaret? After all the years we’ve lived together.” A feeling of guilt rushed over me. I was like a child at a crossroads. In front of me were two roads that were both covered in fog. I didn’t know what was waiting for me at the end of the road. However, suddenly on the other road, I saw a man extending his hand. He called out. “Hold my hand. Don’t be afraid. I will always take care of you. Come on, take my hand.” However, on the other side of the street, out of the fog, came a man who just stood staring at me without saying or doing anything.

All my strength is sapped. A little before daybreak, when the horizon turns rosy in the east and the sky lightens to gray, we come to a back road, single lane, tar patched, no painted lines. We track it, picking our way through the foliage alongside it, until it ends at a larger two-laned road. We don’t see or hear any cars, but we follow the new road, staying in the woods parallel to the shoulder.

By the time they found him, he was crouched on the side of the road, shaking with fear at the sight of a stray dog. Since then, dogs had become Parker's greatest fear. I couldn't believe that the very person who had caused his fear would have the audacity to give him a toy dog as a gift. I wasn't sure if I felt more anger or disappointment. Setting the box aside, I said calmly, "Thanks." Beatrice looked at me with a puzzled expression. A moment later, she seemed to remember something and said, "The power's out at Maxwell's place, so I'm having him stay at our house.

His leaves tremble with each bump in the road. I think its nerves match mine. It feels like I drive in silence for a long time. Then I see it. A turn in the road that isn’t on the map the attendant gave me, but is on the drawn one. The thought that maybe this road was added after the attendant’s map was printed hits me. That has to be it. This new path branches off the main road like a limb, thin and winding. The sign beside it is rusted and blank, its letters worn smooth by time.

Not warnings. Promises. They glowed faintly as we passed. Elowen read the first aloud. > A road begins when one person chooses to trust another. Further along, another inscription appeared. > No lantern shines for itself alone. Then another. > Every journey changes both the traveler and the one who welcomes them. We slowed naturally. Not because the passage was difficult. Because every sentence felt worth carrying. The farther we walked, the quieter the world became. Even the heartbeat of the Heart faded behind us.

The moment the map loaded, my face twisted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” A bright red warning sign blinked on the screen. Major road blocked — fallen tanker. Of course it had to be my usual shortcut. I sighed heavily. “Fantastic.” I stared at the map for a moment before spotting another route. There was a smaller road, barely used, especially this late at night. I hesitated. “Hmm…” Then I shrugged. “Whatever. It’ll still get me home.” I turned onto the narrow road a few minutes later. Almost immediately, the atmosphere changed.

"The road back is not the same road. You took the outward road before you knew what you would find. The return road carries the knowing. It is heavier. It is also the road that leads to the people who are waiting. And that makes it, in the end, the easier one." * * * They stay at the staging location that night.

The road home is different from the road east. Not the road itself. The same road, the same miles, the same stops. But the quality of it is different because we are different from the people who drove this road two days ago. Not dramatically. Just in the small accumulated way of people who have stood in front of something they have been moving toward and have finally arrived there. Bowen sleeps again. I do not tell him. He will deny it.

A flicker of disgust crossed his face. He didn't recognize me. I hadn't cared about my appearance in years. Ten years had passed. I was no longer the professor people admired—the woman with light in her eyes. Now I wore a worn-out leather jacket that hadn't been washed in days. Years of cold wind had left my face rough and lined. Standing next to his tailored suit and polished shoes, I probably looked like dirt. "So you're the only person who's ever made it through Deadman's Pass unharmed?"

The wind returned in the afternoon and pushed hard across the open hills as if it had been waiting all day for us to climb into it. I walked beside Ezra. Grass bent and whipped against my legs. The sky stayed clear and cold. Every step felt heavier with the choice we still had not made. Ezra spoke against the wind. “The choice still sits right in front of us. Keep going deeper into the unknown or begin a slow return with everything we have learned.” I kept my eyes on the next rise. “Both roads are real. Neither one is shouting louder than the other.”