At dinner, my daughter quietly slipped a folded note in front of me. “Pretend You’re Sick And Get Out Of Here,” it read.

We couldn’t go back home. That was clear. But we couldn’t just disappear, either. Richard had resources. He would find us.

“First, we need proof,” I finally decided. “Concrete proof we can take to the police.”

“Like what?”

“Like the substance he planned to use today.” The plan forming in my mind was risky, maybe even reckless. But as the initial terror gave way to a cold, calculating anger, I knew we had to act, and fast.

“We’re going back,” I announced, turning the key in the ignition.

“What?” Sarah’s eyes widened in panic. “Mom, have you lost your mind? He’s going to kill you!”

“Not if I get to him first,” I replied, surprised by the firmness in my own voice. “Think with me, Sarah. If we run now without proof, what happens? Richard will claim I had a breakdown, that I dragged you off on some irrational impulse. He’ll find us, and we’ll be even more vulnerable.” I made a sharp U-turn, heading back towards our house. “We need concrete evidence. The substance he plans to use today is our best shot.”

Sarah stared at me, her face a mixture of fear and admiration. “But how are we going to do it without him noticing?”

“We’ll keep up the charade. I’ll say I went to the pharmacy, took a painkiller, and I’m feeling a little better. You’ll go straight to your room, pretending to be unwell, too. While I distract Richard and the guests, you search the office.”

Sarah nodded slowly, her gaze determined. “And what if I find something? Or worse, what if he realizes what we’re doing?”

I swallowed hard. “Send a text with the word ‘now.’ If I get it, I’ll make an excuse, and we’ll leave immediately. If you find something, take pictures, but don’t take anything.”

As we got closer to the house, I felt my heart pound harder. I was about to walk into the lion’s den. When I parked in the driveway, I noticed there were more cars. All the guests had arrived.

The murmur of conversations greeted us as soon as we opened the door. Richard was in the center of the living room, telling some story that was making everyone laugh. When he saw us, his smile faltered for just an instant.

“Ah, you’re back,” he exclaimed, walking over and putting an arm around my waist. His touch, once comforting, now repulsed me. “Are you feeling better, dear?”

“A little,” I replied, forcing a smile. “The medicine is starting to kick in.”

“Good to hear.” He turned to Sarah. “And you, kiddo? You look a little pale.”

“I have a headache, too,” Sarah mumbled, playing her part perfectly. “I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.”

“Of course, of course,” Richard said, his concern so convincing that if I didn’t know the truth, I would have completely believed it.

Sarah went upstairs, and I joined the guests, accepting a glass of water Richard offered. I refused the champagne, claiming it wouldn’t mix with the medicine.

“No tea today?” he asked casually, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

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