He emptied our joint account.
Every paycheck I’d earned over the last eighteen months—gone.
He had my name removed before I even realized what he’d done.
I’m not completely stupid. I have a small savings account he can’t touch, one I opened before him, one he never asked about, but I’m sure he knows.
Dan has connections. He’s a bank manager. Dabbles in investments.
And he has friends at other banks.
People who owe him favors.
They can trace things.
Withdrawals. Online purchases. Digital footprints.
That’s why I decided to disappear.
Cash only.
No reservations.
No social media.
No breadcrumbs.
And I hope—foolishly—that if I stay quiet enough, small enough, he’ll eventually forget about me.
But I know better.
Dan doesn’t let go.
The gas gauge dips lower, needle hovering just above empty.
My stomach tightens as I do the math. Less than a hundred dollars to my name.
No job. No place to stay beyond tonight.
I can’t keep running forever.
I need work. Shelter.
Something solid to hold on to before the fear catches up with me.
I had dreams once of what my life would be like when I got older.
Unsurprisingly, this wasn’t what I’d imagined.
There’s one particular one I think of often.
It’s ofme sitting on a porch swing with someone I love, who loves me—silly but I still think of it now and then.
And I wonder if I’ll ever have that.
The road curves ahead, vanishing into the trees, and finally, the sun breaks through.
And for the first time since I left, a different feeling slips in beneath the panic.
