She skidded into the gas station and parked haphazardly in two parking spots.

“Frank,” she called to the cashier, “Can I have the bathroom key?”

“Shit, Darlene, again? When is he going to stop?” He asked incredulously as he handed her the key across the counter.

“Today,” she said as she turned the corner to the bathroom. Inside, she skillfully applied concealer to the cuts and bruises that lay scattered across her face, some fresh and some partially healed. She slid her ring off of her finger, dropped it in the toilet, and flushed without even the slightest glance in its direction.

Outside, she scanned the parking lot before pulling the gun from underneath her seat. She wiped it clean and deposited it in the trash can. From her pocket, she pulled a lighter and ignited her driver’s license until it is nothing more than unrecognizable twisted plastic smoldering on the ground.

This freedom, this total lack of fear, she thinks as she drives toward the horizon, this is true happiness.