Chapter 2 - The Silent Exit
They left. They had no choice. But as the door clicked shut, the adrenaline crashed, and I hit the floor, gasping for air. My babies kicked, a frantic, rhythmic thumping against my ribs.
I didn't have time to mourn my marriage. I had to survive.
I gathered my go-bag—the one I’d hidden in the back of my closet weeks ago, just in case—and shoved the folder inside. I didn't pack clothes; I packed evidence. I called an Uber, not to a hotel, but to my sister’s house in the next county.
When I arrived, Sarah took one look at me—pale, trembling, eight months pregnant—and didn't ask questions. She just ushered me into the guest room.
"They're gone, Natalie," she whispered. "You're safe."
But I wasn't safe. I was a target.
That night, my phone buzzed incessantly. Evan. Where are you? We need to talk. This is crazy. Rebecca didn't mean it.
May you like
He was still playing the puppet. I turned the phone off and pulled out my laptop. I needed to move the money. My late father had set up the account in a way that required two signatures for large withdrawals, but there was a clause: incapacitation.
If I could prove I was being coerced or that the primary account holder (me) was in danger, I could trigger an emergency transfer. I spent the night on video calls with lawyers, uploading documents, and setting the trap. If they wanted a war, they were going to get one.
