YOUR MOTHER-IN-LAW HANDED YOU A BRUTAL LIST AND ORDERED, “COOK FOR FIFTY PEOPLE BEFORE 3 A.M.”

That part still burns.

Not because of the color. Because of the accuracy. Marisol never saw you as family. She saw you as labor with a wedding ring.

The plane lands in Lisbon just after five.

You chose Lisbon because it was the first affordable flight leaving before dawn and because the city felt far enough away to shock your life into a new shape. Not forever, maybe. You had not planned forever when you booked the ticket with trembling fingers and a half-charged phone. You had planned escape. Sometimes that is the only honest ambition the body can manage.

At baggage claim, you switch your phone on.