For the last ten years, I’ve roamed the globe, captivated by the world around me. I’ve seen the seven wonders and admired sunsets from every continent. I’d lived and loved and that was enough for me. It would have to be.
I was content, satisfied with my collection of experiences . . . until a phone call led me down a road less traveled.
If I’d known my fascination would pique and be forever quenched only a few hundred miles from where my curiosity had been born, I may have never set sail.
Stripped of the future I’d planned with the love of my life, my family and my career were now all that mattered. I’d lived and loved and that was enough. It would have to be.
I struggled to move forward, to discard the part of me that held out hope for my obliterated heart. But I was bred a romantic, so it was easier said than done.
The chances of being struck by lightning are 1 in 960,000.
The odds of being struck twice are 1 in 9 million.
I risked those odds every minute, often cursing the dark sky, praying for static and a rumble of thunder, but it never came.
No, that second bolt hit me on a clear day.