My husband cooked dinner—and minutes later, my son and I collapsed on the floor

After that, they moved like two people who’d rehearsed this a hundred times. Marcus yanked open drawers, emptied my jewelry box, grabbed my laptop, folders, cash envelopes—anything valuable. The woman stuffed everything into suitcases she’d brought with her.

“Passport?” she asked.

“Blue folder,” Marcus replied. “Grab hers too. I need to make sure she can’t follow us.”

They weren’t just leaving.

They were trying to erase me—strip my life down to an empty shell and run away with everything.

And the sickest part?

They sounded happy.

Giddy. Like thieves celebrating before they’d even escaped.

“We catch the midnight flight,” the woman said. “Then we disappear.”

“Freedom,” Marcus murmured.

Freedom from me.

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