It’s been years since I felt like I was really living. Every day blends into the next—Econo-Air flights, suburban routines, the same arguments with Debbie about nothing and everything. Then Jack and Nancy Peterson started bragging about their Paris trip, and something snapped. I wanted magic. I wanted Walley World.

So I booked the van, told the family we’re going on a real adventure—just like when I was a kid. James looked terrified. Kevin cackled like a demon. Debbie just sighed and said, 'Not Cheboring again.' I thought I’d finally done something right.

Now we’re stranded in the desert, the Tartan Prancer a smoldering wreck behind us. I walked for miles, alone, thinking it’s over. But then, headlights. A trucker pulls up—guy we’ve seen before, always just… watching. I brace for the worst.

He rolls down his window, holds out a small box. 'Your wife’s ring,' he says. 'You left it at the gas station in Arkansas.'

I stare at him. 'You’ve been following us this whole time… to return a ring?'

'Yeah,' he says, like it’s obvious. 'You gonna get in or not?'