Sixteen Years I Didn’t Speak to My Mother. Then I Went Missing, and From Her Sickbed She Said “Go Find Her”

Someone had gone around.

There were tire tracks curving off the road and through the brush on one side, and rejoining the road beyond the tree.

I sat there and I hesitated.

Turning around meant hours of backtracking in the failing light.

The tracks meant someone had made it around already.

The ground looked firm enough.

I followed the tracks.

It was a mistake, and I knew it was a mistake within about four seconds of committing to it.