The last thing Kyle tossed out the truck window before driving away was my water bottle.

It rolled across the cracked concrete of the gas station and stopped beside a faded ice machine.

Then all three men burst out laughing.

“Relax, Lena. We’ll be back in five minutes.”

Brad leaned halfway out of the back seat, pointing his phone at me.

“Give us the scared face again. The comments are gonna love this.”

Chase slapped the dashboard.

“Don’t tell her yet. Let her sweat a little.”

The pickup sped onto the highway, leaving behind a cloud of dust that swallowed the license plate before I could read it one last time.

I stood there with nothing except the clothes I was wearing.

My purse was still inside the truck.

My phone too.

My driver’s license.

My bank cards.

Even the motel key from the night before.

Kyle had insisted on putting everything in the center console because he said it was “safer.”

I watched the empty highway until the dust disappeared.

No traffic.

No houses.

Just dry Arizona desert stretching in every direction.

The cashier inside the station glanced at me through the window, then looked away.

This wasn’t even the first time.

It Was Always Supposed to Be Funny

Kyle had built a decent following online by filming practical jokes.

At first they were harmless.

Fake lottery tickets.

Plastic snakes.

Birthday surprises.

Then his younger brothers started appearing in every video.

Brad always wanted bigger reactions.

Chase wanted bigger numbers.

Eventually I became the easiest target because I was always there.

Kyle always had the same answer afterward.

“Come on, babe. Everyone knows it’s fake.”

Except it never felt fake to me.

One Christmas they wrapped empty boxes while everyone else opened real presents.

They laughed for twenty minutes before handing me the actual gift.

Another time they pretended my dog had escaped while I searched the neighborhood crying.

Kyle uploaded that one before I even got home.

It passed two million views.

Every time I complained, someone said the same thing.

“You need a better sense of humor.”

After a while, I stopped arguing.

That seemed easier.

Until Arizona.

The Highway Stayed Empty

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Then twenty.

I sat on the curb beside the ice machine because standing made my knees shake.

The plastic water bottle Kyle had thrown rolled back toward me whenever the wind picked up.

I never opened it.

A family stopped for gas.

The little girl stared at me.

Her mother quietly asked,

“Honey… are you okay?”

I almost answered automatically.

“My husband will be back.”

Instead, I looked toward the highway again.

Nothing.

The woman hesitated.

“Do you need a phone?”

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

She waited.

Didn’t rush me.

Didn’t assume.

Finally I whispered,

“He left with everything.”

Her expression changed immediately.

“Everything?”

I nodded.

“Phone. Wallet. ID.”

She looked toward the empty road.

“How long?”

I checked the clock above the station entrance.

Almost forty minutes.

She didn’t ask another question.

She simply held out her phone.

“Call someone.”

I stared at the screen.

There wasn’t anyone.

My parents had both passed away years earlier.

Kyle had slowly become the person I depended on for everything without me realizing it.

The only number I could remember by heart belonged to my Aunt May.

I hadn’t spoken to her in nearly three years.

One Phone Call Changed Everything

She answered after the second ring.

“Hello?”

I swallowed.

“Aunt May?”

A pause.

Then—

“Lena?”

I hadn’t heard anyone say my name like that in years.

Not as a joke.

Not while laughing.

Just… my name.

My voice cracked.