Chapter 3 - Midnight Departure
Packing took twenty minutes.
I didn't bother with the clothes Daniel had bought me or the cheap trinkets his family had gifted over the years. I packed Cooper’s favorite toys, his clothes, our legal documents, and the small wooden box my father had given me when I left North Carolina seven years ago.
Inside that box was my true identity: my birth certificate bearing the name Claire Vance, my passport, and the platinum bracelet my father had fastened around my wrist on my eighteenth birthday—an interlocking chain of white gold and diamonds bearing the private crest of the Vance dynasty.
I carried our two duffle bags down the back staircase, avoiding the squeaky floorboards. I settled Cooper, still fast asleep in his blanket, into his car seat in the back of my modest crossover SUV parked in the rear driveway.
I went back inside through the side mudroom to grab Cooper’s diaper bag and medical binder.
"Sneaking out in the middle of the night, Claire? How dramatic."
I froze, then slowly turned around.
Daniel was leaning against the kitchen island, a glass of scotch dangling loosely from his fingers. Linda stood by the refrigerator, arms crossed over her chest, watching me with venomous satisfaction. Sitting at our breakfast nook, wearing one of Daniel’s dress shirts over her slip, was Jessica Collins.
On Jessica’s wrist sparkled a brand-new Cartier Love bracelet—purchased three weeks ago on the forged credit line Daniel had opened in my name.
"I'm leaving, Daniel," I said evenly, not raising my voice.
Daniel laughed, shaking his head. "Look at you. Still pouting over a little birthday prank. You really don't have a sense of humor, do you?"
"Shoving your wife's face into your son's birthday cake isn't a joke," I said, meeting his bloodshot eyes. "It's abuse. And Cooper will never witness it again."
"Oh, please!" Linda scoffed, taking a step forward. "You should be thanking Daniel for tolerating you this long. You're plain, you have no ambition, and you've held my son back from the society circles he belongs in. Jessica comes from old Nashville money. Her uncle sits on the regional chamber of commerce. What do you bring to the table? A father who sells cabbage in the mud?"
Jessica smirked, swirling her wine glass. "Daniel was too kind to tell you, Claire, but you’re embarrassing to be around. When Daniel buys into the dealership group next week, he'll need a real partner by his side. Someone who knows how to wear couture, not clearance-rack cardigans."
I looked at Jessica, then at Daniel. He didn't look away. Instead, he took another sip of his scotch and stepped toward me, his expression cold and arrogant.
"Here's how this is going to go, Claire," Daniel said, dropping his voice to a threatening rumble. "You walk out that door tonight, and you don't come back. You take your little clunker car, and I keep the house. You don't ask for alimony, and you let me see Cooper whenever it’s convenient for my schedule. If you try to fight me in divorce court, I will bury you. I have the best lawyers in Davidson County lined up. You don't have a dime to your name."
"You really believe that, don't you?" I asked quietly.
"I know it," Daniel sneered. "Now get out of my house before I have the police escort you off the property for trespassing."
"You're making a mistake you won't survive, Daniel," I said softly.
Linda let out a shrill cackle. "Hear that? The country bumpkin is making threats! Go run back to your farm, little girl!"
I didn't say another word. I turned on my heel, walked out into the cool night air, and climbed behind the wheel of my car.
As I backed out of the driveway, I saw the three of them watching through the kitchen window, raising their glasses in a toast.
I pulled out onto the quiet suburban street, turned toward the interstate, and dialed a number I hadn't called in nearly seven years.
The line rang twice before a deep, authoritative voice answered, laced with instant wakefulness.
"Claire?"
Hearing my father's voice broke the dam behind my eyes. A single tear rolled down my cheek, but my voice remained razor-sharp.
May you like
"Dad," I whispered. "It's me. I'm coming home."
***
