Chapter 3

The first night of our new life was spent in a sterile, anonymous motel room off the highway. I held Lily until she fell into an exhausted sleep, her small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that was the only comfort I needed. The next morning, fueled by coffee and a grim sense of determination, I found a small, two-bedroom apartment for rent in a decent neighborhood across town. It was expensive, but it was safe. By the afternoon, I had paid the deposit, signed the lease, and enrolled Lily in a highly-rated daycare center near my office.

The feeling of taking decisive action, of building a fortress for just the two of us, was empowering.

Two days later, I was at my desk, trying to focus on a complex spreadsheet, when my phone buzzed. It was Mark. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach, but I answered, keeping my voice professionally flat.

"Hello?"

"Where the hell are you?" he demanded, without any preamble. "The house is a mess, there' s no food in the fridge. I thought you were supposed to come home."

The sheer audacity of his entitlement was breathtaking.

"I' m not coming home, Mark. That is not my home anymore."

"Don' t be ridiculous," he scoffed. "Now listen, Mom isn' t feeling well. You need to come over and make her some soup. And on your way, pick up that expensive bird' s nest supplement she likes from the Asian market. She' s been through a lot."

I looked at the picture of Lily on my desk, her bright, innocent smile a stark contrast to the ugliness coming through the phone. A cold, hard wall of indifference solidified around my heart.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" he sputtered, his voice rising in disbelief. "She' s your mother-in-law! It' s your duty!"

"She stopped being my mother-in-law the moment you both stood by and watched our daughter almost die," I said, my voice as cold as ice. "And you, her son, can take care of her yourself. It' s about time you took on some duties of your own."

There was a moment of stunned silence, then the explosion came.

"You useless bitch!" he roared, his voice distorted with rage. "You think you' re so high and mighty now? Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?"

The stream of vitriol that followed was vile, a torrent of insults and curses designed to break me down, to remind me of my "place." But it didn't work. It was just noise.

As he raged, my mind drifted back to the thousand dollars a month I had faithfully transferred into Evelyn' s account for the past two years. The 'caretaker fee.' Just last month, a nosy but well-meaning neighbor had let it slip.

"It' s so nice of you to support Evelyn' s hobbies," she had said. "She' s at the community center every afternoon for her mahjong game. Says her son is a big shot and you just give her spending money."

The truth had hit me like a physical blow. Evelyn wasn't watching Lily. She was taking my money, leaving my three-year-old daughter in front of a television for hours on end, and using the funds I worked so hard for to gamble with her friends. The pool incident wasn't just a moment of negligence, it was the inevitable result of a long pattern of deceit and neglect.

I cut through his tirade, my voice sharp and clear.

"By the way, Mark," I said, a cruel satisfaction in my tone. "The monthly payments to your mother have been cancelled. Permanently."

He stopped yelling, confused. "What payments?"

"The thousand dollars I' ve been paying her every month to supposedly take care of Lily," I explained, spelling it out for him. "The money she' s been using for her mahjong games. It stops today. I' ve already hired a proper daycare for Lily. You and your mother are officially cut off."

There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he processed the loss of his personal ATM.

"You can' t do that," he finally said, his voice a low, threatening growl. "That' s our money."

"No, Mark," I corrected him. "It was my money. And you' re not getting another cent."

I hung up before he could respond, my hand steady. For the first time in years, I felt a sense of control. The leash was off.