Finally, the day comes when she must leave. When nothing is left for her. When the friends she once knew have changed, and she knows it isn't worth it to stay.
And she gazes longingly at those she wished she'd become closer to when she had the chance, the ones whose companionship would have been valued now, like the sporty girl who never judges people for anything out of their control, or their history, and the nerd who supports his friends and family above anything.
The ones she's spent years building a life around aren't with her anymore- at least, not the versions of themselves she once loved.
There's nothing tying her to this city anymore; no trace of her younger years would be seen if she were to leave.
The problem, then, is where to go.
She doesn't have the means to go anywhere out of the country, and she doesn't think she can take another city; too many memories, but not enough energy to combat them. At the same time, it's all she's ever known, and deep inside, she realizes that she'll never fit in anywhere else.
Trying to find somewhere you belong is difficult beyond words, and it becomes nearly impossible when all your hope left with your friendships in ancient history.
She wonders if things would be different if she'd ever opened up her heart. After her mother's death, she wouldn't allow anyone in, and she hates herself for it.
Seeing him laughing, smiling, his arm around the girl he fell in love with when he moved past her, she wishes that she could have a second chance. Wishes the world would take pity on her like it's never done before.
A small part of her brain has considered suicide. She'd never act on it; she cherishes life (even a lonely one) above all. But she feels as though the only farther rock bottom she could hit would be the Underworld.
It's hard to say it, but it's time to say it: "Goodbye," she whispers to a lonely city she used to know.
She was too young to remember much of her life before New York; an unfamiliar laugh here, a flash of a genuine grin there- her two memories of those distant times. She recalls, however, happiness, something she's long since lost here.
They say you should remember where you came from, and she supposes it couldn't hurt to make her way back to her roots; not anymore than what grew from them has hurt, anyway.
So it's settled. For better or worse, California is calling her name.
Glancing out the bus window and briefly pondering what the past place has to offer her, she thinks she sees a humanoid shape running, a purple bandana chasing the body and zipping through the wind, a desperate expression on an old friend's face.
Deciding that she's imagining it, she turns away as the bus begins to move.
They haven't spoken in years, but Donatello breaks down as the lonely, adult April O'Neil he moved past long ago is carried home.