My dad saw me limping down our quiet street, my baby on my hip—no car, no help. He frowned. “Why are you walking? I bought you an SUV.” I looked at him, took a breath… and finally whispered the truth he was never meant to hear.

The room Derek and I had been using looked smaller than ever. A pack-and-play in one corner. Diapers stacked beside the closet. My laptop on the little desk where I worked customer support shifts while bouncing Evan with my foot under the table. Laundry folded in two separate piles because Patricia didn’t want my clothes mixed into the family wash.

I looked around and realized almost none of it felt like home.

It felt like containment.

Dad followed me in with Evan and set him down on a blanket with a few toys while I grabbed the overnight bag. My hands shook at first, but the more I packed, the steadier they became. Onesies. Bottles. Formula. Wipes. My laptop. Chargers. Insurance card. Birth certificate. Social Security cards from the zip pouch I kept hidden in the back of a drawer because Patricia once joked that I would lose my own head if it wasn’t attached.

Dad watched the room quietly while I moved.

Eventually Derek drifted into the doorway. He leaned against the frame and said, “You don’t have to do this just because he’s mad.”

I zipped the bag and looked up. “I’m doing this because I’m tired.”

He frowned. “So now I’m the bad guy?”