Chapter 1 - The Taxi Money
Nine months pregnant, I stood in our kitchen in Columbus, Ohio.
One hand was pressed firmly against the small of my back as another intense contraction ripped through my body.
My husband, Derek, was frantically searching the junk drawer for his car keys.
"I told you the contractions are five minutes apart," I said.
He barely even looked at me.
"And I told you I have a highly important client dinner," he replied coldly.
For six entire months, Derek had treated my pregnancy like a personal inconvenience that belonged exclusively to me.
He skipped ultrasound appointments, complained when I woke him at night, and referred to my upcoming maternity leave as a paid vacation.
Still, I had foolishly kept believing that the actual hospital trip might finally force him to act like a real husband.
Instead, he opened his expensive leather wallet, pulled out a ten and a five, and tossed them onto the granite counter.
"Taxi money," he said.
"You know exactly where Riverside Hospital is."
The crumpled bills slid across the smooth counter and stopped right beside my pre-packed hospital bag.
Something deep inside of me went completely quiet.
I did not cry.
I did not yell.
I simply picked up the fifteen dollars, left my diamond wedding ring right beside it, and walked out the door with my bag.
But the local hospital was never my actual destination.
Three weeks earlier, after Derek forgot our anniversary and blamed me for being overly emotional, I had secretly called my older sister, Rachel.
Rachel lived in Pittsburgh, and she was the only person I trusted with the dark truth about my marriage.
I told her how Derek aggressively controlled our bank accounts, how he mocked my career, and how every argument ended with him threatening to kick me out of his house.
Rachel had only given me one piece of advice.
"If you ever decide to leave, do not warn him, just come to me."
So that is exactly what I did.
At the very end of our dark suburban block, a gray Honda was idling quietly beneath a flickering streetlamp.
Rachel stepped out of the driver's seat before I even reached the bumper.
Her protective smile instantly vanished when she saw me clutching my swollen stomach.
"You are in active labor right now," she stated.
"Probably," I gasped.
"Then we are going to the hospital immediately," she said.
"Not his hospital, and not his city," I insisted.
Rachel stared at me for a long second, then gave a firm nod.
I climbed into the passenger seat, completely cutting off my old life as we drove east toward the state line.
I thought I had executed the perfect escape from a miserable marriage.
But ten minutes later, Rachel’s eyes darted nervously to the rearview mirror.
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"Hold on tightly," Rachel whispered, accelerating the car suddenly.
"A black SUV with tinted windows pulled out of your neighborhood, and it has been tailing us ever since we left your street."
