On the first day of our marriage, my husband threw a greasy dishcloth in my face and said, “From now on, you’re my family’s maid.” I smiled, left my wedding ring on the table, and walked out with my suitcase.

Dean finally muted the television.

Mason marched toward me.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“I am.”

“You’re making a scene.”

“I packed quietly.”

“Go upstairs.”

“No.”

His jaw tightened.

“Olivia.”

“Mason.”

“Take your suitcase upstairs.”

“No.”

His hand shot toward my arm.

I stepped backward before he could grab me.

“Touch me,” I said quietly, “and I call the police before I walk out.”

For the first time that morning, nobody spoke.

Mason lowered his hand.

Carol shook her head.

“You young women give up on marriage over everything.”

I picked up my suitcase again.

“Maybe.”

Then I opened the front door.

Mason followed me into the foyer.

“If you leave this house today, don’t bother coming back.”

I turned.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said all morning that makes me feel better.”

His face went red.

I stepped outside.

Then I remembered something.

I leaned back through the doorway.