It was one of those mornings where my body said no, loud and clear. I woke up with a throbbing headache, so I did what anyone would do—reached for my phone to call out sick. I typed the email, eyes squinting at the screen, head pounding.

Then, ping. A message from our program coordinator.

One of our students couldn’t go on the field trip. A diabetic student. The staff scheduled to go didn’t feel comfortable providing diabetes care—and I got it. Diabetes isn’t something you just wing. I knew because I live it. I’m a type two diabetic myself. I was the only one who could truly understand and care for him.

I had no choice. I had to go.

I sat on the edge of my bed, feeling heavy. The ache in my head, the frustration in my chest… it all swirled. But I got up, moved slow, and did what I had to do. Before starting my car, I paused. Just sat in stillness for two minutes and breathed. Centered myself. Reminded myself of my strength.

The morning was already warm. Shorts? Tempting. But I grabbed my cool joggers and hit the road.

On the 580 freeway, something caught my eye—a car with a familiar pink custom detail. My heart did a little skip. Jenna’s car? I leaned forward. Yep. The bumper sticker confirmed it. My stomach twisted a little. I sped up instinctively, curious, irrationally hopeful.

Then I saw her car exit toward Park Dr. Weird, I thought. It’s 7:15 AM. Why would she be heading that way? Coming home from somewhere?

As I passed her car at the red light, I looked. But it wasn’t her.

It was a woman—wavy hair, sunglasses.

Not Jenna.

And that’s when something inside me shifted. Not in a heartbreak way. Not panic. Not even sadness. It was more like… a calm wave rolling through.

Oh.

That’s the answer.

I kept driving. But my mind was spinning with thoughts. As soon as I got to work, I went straight to my office. I didn’t even grab coffee or check my phone. I opened the computer, went to Google Maps, and typed: Park Dr, Oakland.

And there it was.

Ahh. Yup. That’s Jenna’s neighborhood. That was definitely her car.

Then I sat there for a second, staring at the screen. My brain started running little scenarios. Why was she driving home that early? Where was she coming from? North? Like… Berkeley? Novato?

It felt weird. Like puzzle pieces I didn’t even want, but my brain kept trying to click them together anyway. And I found myself thinking, Whatever. It is what it is.

But the moment still sat with me.

And then—my memory pulled me back.

April 4th.

Jenna and I had met up to talk about health insurance stuff. We were sitting across from each other when she told me, clear as day, “You should inform me if you’re dating anyone. I prefer to hear it directly from you, not from the Deaf community gossip mill.”

I told her, “Yes, I will.”

Then I asked her the same.

“If you date someone, would you tell me?”

She paused. Just for a few seconds—but I noticed.

Then she said, “I want to date people… but legally, on paper, we’re still married.”

I told her, “That’s fine. You can.”

Then I asked gently, “Do you like someone? Someone I know?”

She looked away.

“I’m not comfortable sharing that,” she said.

I didn’t push her.

But I knew.

And now here I was, seeing a stranger driving her car, early morning, sunglasses on—and the memory of that conversation came rushing back. Like, ugh. She didn’t tell me. She asked for honesty from me, but didn’t give it back.

Is that fair?

I didn’t need confirmation. I didn’t need confrontation. I just… knew. She’s seeing someone. Whether it’s a woman or a man—who knows. But the bigger truth I saw wasn’t about her. It was about me.

In that moment, I realized I’d been waiting for her to check in… to come back… to chase me the way I chased her. But she didn’t. She stopped. And I kept hoping.

And then, I asked myself—why?

Why am I pouring my energy into someone who’s no longer offering theirs back?

Why am I still waiting for care, for clarity, for closure, from someone who isn’t choosing me right now?

That morning became more than a headache. More than a detour. It was a revelation. I’m still working through the feelings, still figuring out the mess of it all—but I’m learning to let go without bitterness. To set boundaries. To protect my heart.

I didn’t expect to find peace on the freeway. But sometimes, peace looks like a stranger driving the car you thought you knew.

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Now I’m wondering…

Have you ever had to Google your way into the truth your heart already felt?

Have you ever been asked to be honest, only to be met with silence in return?

What did you feel when clarity hit you in the quietest way?

And more importantly… are you still chasing someone who’s no longer looking back?