Journal Entry no. 1:

THE DINGY HOTEL

The first night I checked into the dingy hotel with my four-year-old, a friendly man greeted us at the front desk—almost too friendly. Outside, a white van sat parked brightly, and my brain immediately screamed: Kidnapper starter pack. I’ve seen enough movies to know how this ends.

Our room was on the second floor, right in the middle of the hallway—just far enough from the elevators to ensure no quick escape. Perfect. I double-locked the door, shoved a chair against it for good measure, and lay awake all night, waiting for the inevitable Taken scenario to unfold.

Night two? Same paranoia. Any creak, any shadow under the door, and I was mentally preparing to fight off intruders using nothing but a hotel hairdryer and my child’s stuffed animal.

Morning came. No kidnappings. No white van activity. Just a continental breakfast that somehow tasted both stale and soggy at the same time. Took an apple, and a banana. We survived, and I vowed—never again.

And yet… the very next week, I found myself right back at the dingy hotel, nodding at the same friendly front desk guy (twitching this time), pretending I wasn’t already planning my escape route….