At a seemingly ordinary family dinner, my husband shocked everyone by pouring scalding soup over my head.

I gasped, my hands flying up instinctively, but what truly froze me wasn’t the heat. It was the sound that followed. Helen laughed. Not a nervous laugh, not a shocked exclamation, but a full, delighted laugh, as though she had just witnessed a clever prank. Claire covered her mouth, pretending surprise, though her eyes betrayed her enjoyment. I stood there drenched, trembling, soup dripping from my hair onto the floor, my heart pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears. Andrew’s expression was empty, cold in a way I had never seen before, and when he spoke, his voice was low and venomous.

He told me I had ten minutes to get out of his house, as if I were a disobedient child or an unwanted guest. For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint clink of a spoon rolling across the table. Something inside me shifted then. The fear that had ruled me for years didn’t disappear, but it stepped aside, making room for something steadier, something resolved. Without shouting, without crying, I reached for my bag beneath the table, feeling the familiar edges of the documents inside. My voice, when I spoke, surprised even me with its calm. I agreed with him. Ten minutes sounded perfect.

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