She had been someone different in each of her lives, changing to fit the man of the month. Maybe her next life and the next man would be what she was looking for. Love, money, and fame all seemed to elude her.

All she knew was time was short and she had to leave in a hurry before he came back, before he convinced her to stay— again.

What to take? All she had was one box—a small box, one she could carry on the run.

Looking around the bedroom for what to take she spied the picture of her son when he was three. He would be ten now. What does he look like now? Where was he? Her heart longed for the child she left behind when she ran from the first man she ever loved, the father of her child. A child she really didn’t want. She was too young to begin with. Being a wife and mother tied her down, keeping her from the money and fame she sought. She didn’t love him—he was convenient.

Putting the picture in the box she looked around for what else to take. There it was in the closet. A leather motorcycle jacket, a reminder of the second man. He and his bike offered excitement and travel but not fame and money. Love wasn’t there either, only sex. And it was good! Making love on a secluded beach or in a stand of trees along the road.

But why the jacket? Because the patches reminded her of all the places they had been. He’ll be back any moment. What else to grab?

There it was. A book, a notebook actually, of all the love poems she had written over the years, especially the last few. Jim was great guy but she wasn’t worthy of him. He was good to her, but the love she wrote about were fantasies unfulfilled.

Why? She didn’t really know. With her three treasures in her box she walked out the door and out of his life. Maybe her next life would be better. What will it be? Where would it take her? “God, I’m tired of running! I’m tired of this life. Please just take me home. I’m not ready but just take me as I am.”

In her hurry to leave and get away, she stepped out into the street. She never saw the truck that hit her, tossing her box into the air, scattering her treasures. She was home, imperfect as she was, maybe now she could find peace—what she really wanted all along.