The ambulance arrived five minutes later.

Only then did I hand the trailer key to the lead paramedic.

“I promised he would be the first one inside,” I said.

The officers exchanged uneasy glances.

One paramedic slowly opened the trailer.

Nobody expected what they found.

---

The interior looked nothing like a prison.

It looked like a tiny hospital room.

An oxygen concentrator hummed quietly beside a padded bed.

Medical monitors blinked steadily.

Family photographs were taped along one wall.

A pressed white suit hung neatly from a garment rack.

Fresh lilies rested inside a small glass vase.

Harold Bennett lay peacefully beneath a blue quilt.

He smiled when the paramedics entered.

“I’m exactly where I asked to be.”

His daughter rushed inside.

“Dad… why?”

Harold reached for her trembling hand.

“I knew you’d try to stop me.”

---

The sheriff frowned.

“Sir, did this man remove you from your home against your will?”

Harold laughed softly.

“I begged him to.”

The entire parking lot fell silent.

The sheriff looked at me.

“You planned this together?”

Harold answered before I could.

“For six months.”

His daughter stared at him in disbelief.

“You disappeared!”

“No.”

“I finally left.”

---

Harold slowly pointed toward the white suit hanging inside the trailer.

“I’ve worn a hospital gown for almost a year.”

“I wasn’t going to meet my wife wearing one.”

Tears rolled down his daughter’s face.

“What are you talking about?”

Harold smiled toward the west.

“Your mother.”

“We were married fifty-nine years.”

“Every anniversary…”

“…we watched the sunset from the Keeper’s Hill overlooking Wichita.”

He closed his eyes.

“When she died, I promised I’d come back one last time.”

“I don’t have another year.”

“I barely have another day.”

---

His daughter began crying.

“You should have told me.”

“I did.”

“You kept saying it wasn’t safe.”

“You kept saying hospice couldn’t allow it.”

“So I asked the only man willing to help.”

She slowly looked at me.

“When did you meet my father?”

I smiled.

“Veterans’ hospice.”

“He used to tell stories every Thursday.”

“Eventually he asked one favor.”

“One final ride.”