Chapter 4

I saved only the seven rent payments.

I placed the screenshots, account balance, and transaction dates in one encrypted folder.

Then I logged out. I didn’t keep searching for other things Evan might have bought or places he might have taken Lena.

Seven months of rent was enough to change what I did next.

There were seventeen hours left before my deadline.

I logged into my employer’s payroll system and redirected my next paycheck to my personal account.

I was the primary holder of our household credit card, while Evan was only an authorized user.

I deactivated his card without touching any of his money in our joint account.

Next, I revoked his access to my medical records.

I had already changed the yellow emergency contact card. This time, I removed his access to my patient portal.

I spent the afternoon packing only what I needed: identification, medication, my work laptop, several loose outfits, and the folder containing my prenatal records.

I left the furniture and everything we had bought together. I wasn’t going to let my departure turn into an argument over who took the coffee machine.

Maya came over after work. When she saw the two suitcases beside the door, she didn’t ask whether I was sure.

She simply bent down and picked up the lighter one.

At 7:46 that evening, Evan finally sent me a voice message.

“Lena isn’t feeling well again. I know you’re angry, but tomorrow at eight is too soon. Give me a few days. I’ll find a solution that’s fair to everyone.”

He was still calling his refusal to choose a solution. He was calling his delay fairness.

At exactly eight, I left the paper listing my three conditions on the dining table. At the bottom, I added one final line:

The deadline has passed.

I closed the door and followed Maya downstairs.

The short-term apartment was ten minutes from the hearing center.

The living room contained one worn sofa, and the bedroom barely had space for a double bed.

The deposit had come out of the money I had saved for maternity leave.

None of the baby supplies Evan and I had chosen together were there.

I put my prenatal folder in the bedside drawer and sat on the unmade mattress.

When my abdomen tightened, I stopped and breathed the way my doctor had shown me.

Maya went into the kitchen to boil water while I sent my attorney the final confirmation.

The separation notice reached Evan’s email at 9:12 p.m. It was brief.

From that moment on, we would live separately. All shared expenses had to be approved in writing. Neither of us had permission to make medical or financial decisions for the other.

Then I updated my address in the hospital system and authorized only Maya to access my information in an emergency.

For the first time in nine years, I was living somewhere Evan couldn’t answer questions for me.

At 10:03, a bank alert appeared on my phone.

Our automatic mortgage payment had failed because the joint account didn’t have enough money. We had until midnight the following night to cover it.

If the payment became delinquent, it wouldn’t only damage Evan’s credit.

It would damage mine too.

I read the amount again.

Evan’s salary should have been deposited that day.

It had never reached our joint account.