MY HUSBAND CHOSE HIS FAMILY AND TOLD ME TO PACK MY BAGS — SO I TOOK OUR 3-YEAR-OLD SON AND VANISHED OVERSEAS.

I didn't pack everything. If you pack everything, it looks like you’re running. I packed only what mattered: Leo’s favorite stuffed bear, our birth certificates, a few changes of clothes, and the encrypted hard drive containing every single financial document I had gathered on the Sterling family over the last four years.

By 2:30 AM, my Uber pulled up to the international terminal at JFK.

I had used a prepaid burner card to buy the tickets. The notarized travel consent form David had signed eight months ago—back when we were supposed to attend my cousin's destination wedding before his mother "forbade" him from going—was still valid. He had signed it without reading it, a symptom of his chronic arrogance.

As I stood at the check-in counter, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

David: Are you done throwing your tantrum? I’m coming home tomorrow. Have my breakfast ready and the house cleaned.

I stared at the screen. He genuinely believed I had gone back to our suburban cage to cry into my pillow. He thought I was broken.

I didn't reply. Instead, I opened my banking app, transferred every cent of my personal savings into an offshore account I had quietly opened weeks ago, and dropped my SIM card into a nearby trash can.

"Destination, ma'am?" the ticket agent asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Florence, Italy," I said, holding Leo tight against my chest. He was fast asleep, his warm breath on my neck.