He drove faster than the law allowed, but I didn’t care. I watched the streetlights blur past, and with every mile that put distance between me and that house, the fear started to evaporate. I realized I wasn’t afraid of them anymore. I wasn’t even angry. I was just done.

Owen was born at 4:11 a.m. the next morning. It was a long, brutal nine hours, but I was never really alone. I had the nurses. I had Gus’s voice in my head. I had the sheer, stubborn focus of bringing my son into the world. My mother, who lives in Kansas, was on a flight by sunrise, but she couldn’t make it to the hospital until noon.

Derek showed up at 10:00 a.m.

He walked into the room carrying his phone, looking annoyed. “The parking was a nightmare,” he said. He didn’t ask how I was. He didn’t ask how the baby was. He walked over to the bed and held his phone out, showing me a picture of Sandra blowing out her candles.

“See,” he said, pointing at the screen. “She had a really nice night. Everyone was worried I’d be grumpy, but I kept it together.”

I looked at the photo. 8:40 p.m. That was exactly when I had been sitting on the porch, waiting for the cab, while a contraction ripped through my back. He had been there, smiling and cutting cake, while I was sitting in the dark.

“I’m glad she had a nice night,” I said. My voice sounded thin, but steady.

He didn’t notice the tone. He just put his phone away and started complaining about the hospital cafeteria coffee.

He had no idea what was happening. He thought he was the center of the world, and he thought I was just the prop that kept his life moving. He thought we were a team. He thought the money in the joint checking account was all there was to know about our life.

He didn’t know about the farm.

When my grandfather died, he left me his land. I sold it, and the $31,000 from that sale was the down payment on the house we lived in. Because Derek’s credit was a disaster from his failed business ventures, the deed was in my name only. He had signed it, grumbling about how it didn’t matter, but it had mattered to me.

He didn’t know about the inheritance I’d tucked away in a high-yield account he’d never seen. $58,000. It was my safety net. It was my escape hatch.

He thought I was dependent on him. He thought I would stay, because that’s what a “good wife” did, even when she was left to labor alone.

Owen shifted in my arms, letting out a soft, tiny sigh. He was perfect. He was mine.

I took my phone out. My thumb hovered over the banking app.