“Stop playing games.” He leaned in like a verdict—while his lawyer slid the pen and his family watched her sign away her life.

Victor waited beside the papers. “Ready?”

“I’ll sign,” she said.

Relief flickered across his face.

That moment told her everything: he wasn’t confident because he was innocent. He was confident because he believed she had nowhere to go.

Lawrence handed her the pen.

Savannah leaned forward—then deliberately dropped it.

“Oh… sorry,” she murmured.

While Lawrence bent down to retrieve it, Savannah pressed the emergency-call shortcut in her purse, connecting silently to the shelter advocate who had told her to leave the line open if she was in danger.

“Sign,” Victor said sharply.

“Can I grab my passport first?” she asked. “If I’m leaving, I’ll need it.”

Margaret waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. Five minutes.”

Savannah walked upstairs slowly.

Her passport drawer was empty.

So was the emergency bag she had hidden months earlier.

Victor had searched.

For a moment panic threatened to overwhelm her. Then she forced herself to think. She still had her car keys hidden in her purse lining. And she knew one blind spot in the security cameras.

She opened the bedroom window.

Cold February air rushed in.

“I’m leaving,” she whispered into the phone line. “Call 911 if I don’t answer.”

Then she climbed out.