Escape

Chapter 2

When the light faded, I was standing in a small, bright room.

It was no bigger than a closet. The walls were pale gold, and the air carried the scent of rain and fresh soil. There was no door, yet somehow I knew this place belonged to me.

I looked down at the glowing key mark on my wrist. The moment I thought about leaving, the room flickered, and I was back in my bedroom. Not even a second had passed.

My heart raced.

I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and touched the key. In the golden room, I set it down on the floor, stepped out, and came back in. The apple was right where I had left it.

This space could hold things. Anything I carried in would stay safe in here, hidden from everyone.

A secret place where I could store everything I needed.

I sat on the golden floor. I had a hiding place, I had ninety days, and I had the memory of everything that was going to happen.

My hands started to shake again.

This time the grief did not come loudly. It came like cold water rising. My throat closed. Behind my eyes I saw the steel door, the ash in my mouth, Pip’s small voice on the other side. I pressed my palms flat against the warm golden floor and breathed until the shaking slowed. The cold in my bones was only memory. The warmth under my hands was real.

One tear slid down my cheek. I let it fall, and then I wiped it away with my thumb.

Underneath the grief, something else was waking up. It was not sorrow anymore. It was hard and clear, like ice over a deep lake. I had given them everything, and I would never give them anything again.

I took a pen and a notebook from my bag. At the top of the page, in big letters, I wrote: NINETY DAYS. Then I made a list.

One. Leave the Vales. Two. Find money. Three. Find a safe place. Four. Buy food, fuel, warm clothes, medicine. Five. Learn to fight. Six. Find people I can trust.

I looked at number six for a long time. Then I crossed it out. I could not trust anyone. Not yet.

• • •

Odette’s voice came sharply up the stairs. “Elowen! Breakfast!”

It was the same call I had answered every morning for four years.

When I came downstairs, they were already seated at the dining table. Odette sat in her pearl necklace, with Cordelia beside her. Caspian was scrolling on his phone. No one said good morning. They simply waited, with empty plates in front of them, because they had never imagined I would not come.

For four years, I had been up before six every morning. I squeezed Odette’s orange juice. I fried Caspian’s eggs. I steeped Cordelia’s tea and cut the crusts off her toast. They had taken it all for granted. Today, I took down one pan.

I cracked two eggs into it and put a single slice of bread in the toaster. I did not hurry. Then I made a cup of coffee, strong and black, the way I liked it. I had not drunk it in years, because Odette said coffee was vulgar.

While the eggs sizzled, I counted. Four years. More than fourteen hundred mornings. I had worked two jobs to keep the Vale family business afloat, while Caspian told his friends it was all his own work. I had nursed Odette through every cold and every “weak heart.” I had baked Cordelia’s charity cakes, ironed Caspian’s shirts, and swallowed every insult with a smile. And in ninety days, I would sell my grandmother’s ring to buy water tanks for the shelter that would shut me out.

Four years of my life, and not one of them had ever asked if I was tired.

I slid the eggs onto my plate, carried it to the kitchen island, sat down alone, and began to eat, slowly, enjoying every bite. They were the best eggs I had ever tasted.

Behind me, the room had gone silent. The stove was warm for one. The dining table was bare. There was only me, with one plate and one cup.

“Elowen,” Odette said sharply. “Where is breakfast?”

“I made mine,” I said. “The fridge is full. You are welcome to make yours.”

Nobody spoke. Cordelia’s eyes went wide. Caspian lowered his phone slowly.

“Elo, honey,” he said, and he laughed, short and confused. “Stop playing around. Mother is hungry.”

“Then Mother can cook.”

Odette’s empty teacup rattled against its saucer. “How dare you! We took you in with nothing. A wife who will not feed her husband’s family is no wife at all. You are useless, Elowen. Useless!”

There it was again. The same word, in the same voice.

“Have you lost your mind?” Caspian snapped. His easy smile was gone. “Mother is right. You are embarrassing me. Go to the stove and do your job. Stop acting like a child and do what you always do.”

“Elowen, dear,” Cordelia said softly, folding her hands. “A wife’s service is a form of prayer. Perhaps pride has taken hold of you. You should pray, and then apologize.”

Do what you always do. She will understand. She always does.

I put down my fork. I stood up, walked around the island, and stopped right in front of my husband. He was still frowning at me, waiting for me to bow my head. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face with everything I had.

The crack rang through the kitchen like a gunshot.

Caspian’s head snapped sideways. His phone hit the floor. Cordelia gasped. Odette half rose from her chair, her mouth open and no sound coming out of it.

“That,” I said quietly, “is for the door.”

He pressed a hand to his red cheek. “What door? Elowen, you hit me. You actually hit me!”

“I want a divorce,” I said. “I will sign the papers today.”

He stared at me as if I had grown a second head. Then he laughed, but it was thin and cracked. “A divorce? You? Do not be dramatic.”

“Do not be dramatic, Elowen,” Odette said at the same moment. Her voice shook with rage. “Where would you even go? You have no money, no family. You are nothing without this house.”

I looked at her. This was the woman who said “useful.” The woman who had watched me die. For a second I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to say, You will lock me out in ninety days, and you will freeze in your own shelter. But no one would believe me. They would only call a doctor.

So I only smiled.

I twisted the thin, plain ring off my finger and set it on the counter beside my empty plate. It rolled once and lay still.

“I will manage,” I said.

“You will crawl back in a week,” Odette hissed.

Cordelia reached for my arm. “Elowen, dear, marriage is a holy promise. Please, pray before you throw away your family.”

Family. I almost laughed. I stepped out of her reach. “Thank you, Cordelia. I have already prayed enough.”

I walked out of the kitchen. Caspian called after me, “Elo! We are not done talking!” But I was already climbing the stairs.

In the bedroom, I took out the one old suitcase I owned. I packed only what I truly needed: my documents, my grandmother’s photo, three pairs of warm boots, and my notebook. I did not touch the dresses Caspian bought me. They were all in his favorite colors, not mine.

At the door, I looked back at the room where I had spent four years. It felt like someone else’s house now. Like a stage after the play is over.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from an unknown number.

You should not have left him. You will regret this.

I read it twice. Then I screenshotted it and put the phone in my pocket. I did not know who sent it. But I could guess. Someone in this house was already afraid of me.

I walked down the stairs with my suitcase. Caspian stood at the bottom with his arms crossed and his jaw tight. The mark of my hand was still red on his cheek. For the first time, I saw something new in his face. It was not love. It was not even guilt. It was anger, hot and surprised, like a man who just found out his favorite chair could walk away.

“You are being childish,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said. “But I am being childish somewhere else.”

I stepped around him and out the front door. The sun was bright. The air smelled of cut grass. Somewhere in the distance, a child was laughing. The whole world was still warm and whole, and no one knew it was going to end.

I took a long breath. For the first time in two lives, I felt free.

I walked to the bus stop with my suitcase rolling behind me. A little girl on the bench was eating ice cream and humming. An old man was reading a newspaper with a headline about a football game. A dog barked at a bird. It was all so ordinary that it hurt. In ninety days, the little girl would be gone, and the old man, and the dog. I wanted to tell them to run. I wanted to warn every single one of them.

But I could not save everyone. I had learned that the hard way, with my own hands bleeding on a steel door. I could only save myself, and the few who truly earned a place beside me.

I got on the bus without looking back.