Diapers. Formula. Three onesies and the sleeper with the snaps that actually worked. A clean blouse for herself. Flat shoes. The baby blanket from the hospital, soft and faded already from washing. The envelope she kept in the back of the nightstand with their son’s birth certificate, her passport, and enough cash to matter.
Ryan appeared in the doorway at 4:42. His phone was still in his hand.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
He laughed. It was not amusement. It was the laugh of a man who had expected surrender and found instead a suitcase on the bed and a woman who had not asked his opinion.
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