Chapter 4

Maya's checklist began with account statements, identification, and a place to sleep.

Over the next twenty-four hours, I exported three years of banking, tax, and investment records to an encrypted drive.

I opened a solo checking account at a bank where Evan had no presence and moved my pre-marital funds beyond his reach.

Before dawn on Friday, while he was still asleep, I walked two suitcases of my clothing, personal files, and my mother’s jewelry down to Maya’s car.

I left the joint furniture untouched. I didn't take any of the luxury items he had given me.

At 8:00 AM, Evan’s SUV was running in the driveway.

He was driving Harper and two junior analysts to Lake Geneva for a day-long offsite, returning that evening.

Harper was already sitting in the passenger seat. The white Samoyed lay across her lap, thin and quiet after the night at the animal hospital.

The entire third row was empty.

I walked out to the car with my hospital paperwork tucked into my leather tote.

"Evan," I said as he closed the rear hatch. "I need to get to my North Side clinic this morning. Could you drop me off?"

I kept the hospital folder under my arm and waited for his answer.

Evan checked the dashboard clock. "Everyone is waiting for us. I can't change the route now. Call an Uber, okay?"

The dog lifted its head when I stepped closer. Its ears flattened. A low sound gathered in its throat.

Harper put both hands around its neck. "It's okay. Evan's here."

I looked through the window at the empty back seat. Evan had already shifted the car into reverse.

I stepped back and shut his car door. "Have a good trip."

As the vehicle disappeared into the morning haze, my phone buzzed: Tell me what the doctor says. Is our baby okay?

I read the message twice, then locked my phone and put it back in my bag.

At the hospital, Maya was waiting by the clinic desk.

We confirmed the follow-up care for Saturday morning.

When the admissions clerk asked if her husband was the primary emergency contact, I took the pen and wrote Maya's details.

"No," I said simply. "He doesn't need to come."

That afternoon, while Evan was still in Wisconsin, I returned to the empty house to take my laptop, my mother's photos, and my coats.

Maya met me at the curb before sundown. She took my tote from my hand, then pulled me into a hug that needed no explanation.

By evening, I was sitting on the edge of the bed in Maya’s furnished rental in Evanston.

At 9:14 PM, back in Chicago, a key turned in the front door lock.

The deadbolt gave a hollow metallic click as Evan pushed the door open.