I worry. Worry the day before the journey. Worry the entire ten hour trip, about returning to the town we left almost two years ago. I am frightened. Frightened that everything that I ran away from, will not be there. That the anger and frustration were unnecessary, that the isolation and the loneliness could have been avoided. That I will discover it was all just me. We follow the line of slow moving traffic along the narrow strip of grey tarmac. As we approach the coast I feel the knot in my stomach tighten. I wonder how it will feel. I imagine it will be like coming home, of having been somewhere strange for a while, then returning to where I belong. I am expecting to be overwhelmed by painful memories. The bitter smell of the sea drifts in through an open car window, the sound of seagulls and lapping waves. In the distance, glimmering through the haze, Saint Michaels Mount rises from behind trees and hills. Golden sunlight illuminates the familiar landmark. It was once our symbol for home, a few minutes from that view and we would be back to where we once lived. We travel along the hedge lined roads, towards a town that once seemed bright and fresh and full of possibilities. Now it is grey and forlorn. The shine worn away, the polish faded revealing a desolate truth. I feel nothing. There is no reconnection, no remorse for times past, no rekindling of emotions. The people and the problems that pulled my life apart are still there, Around each corner is another recollection ready to intimidate me, but they all fail. The town with ten years of painful memories no longer holds me, punishes me. The doubts of the last two years fade like the granite buildings. I am at last content with my decision to leave.