“I’ve never been more certain.”
All three babies were healthy. As Shaun drove us away from the clinic, I told him I wanted to move into the house our parents had left me.
The property was older and had remained mostly empty because Ryan disliked it. He called it inconvenient and outdated, and I had always found surrendering easier than arguing.
“Are you leaving because you’re angry,” Shaun asked, “or because you’re finished?”
“Both.”
“Then tell me what tomorrow looks like.”
“Tomorrow, I wake up somewhere Ryan cannot control. I start making decisions before he makes them for me.”
Shaun nodded.
“Then I’ll help you make the house safe for the babies.”
At a red light, Ryan sent me a photograph of himself drinking beside the water.
His caption read, “Finally getting the rest I earned.”
I saved the message.
When we reached my house, my mother was waiting. Shaun had called her after the appointment.
She looked at the babies and then at me.
“What do you need?”
“I need you to watch them while I make some calls.”
“And after that?”
“We open the old house.”
Inside, I called an attorney.
She told me to photograph every room, preserve Ryan’s messages, take only my belongings and the babies’ necessities, and leave his personal property untouched.
I hired movers and documented everything carefully.
While they disassembled the cribs, Ryan called on video.
