My heart aches as I tear my eyes away from my home for the last time. I blink away tears and face the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly. I say a silent goodbye to the first place that ever felt my own, the place where I became a mother, a wife. The place that I lived the perfect life, until it all went wrong. My knuckles turn white from the strain, as though holding onto the wheel will keep me held together as well. We pass by fields of corn, the tall stalks fading into a blur of green through the windows. I glance into the rear view at Maya. Silky brown hair hangs in her face, hiding her expression from me. Darkened wet spots on her shirt let me know that she’s been crying. It breaks me even more to watch my daughter cry. At three years old, this is the only house she’s ever known- the only place that has ever been home to her. I reach back and squeeze her knee, trying to reassure her- and myself- that everything will be alright. The sun is setting and I know we will have to park somewhere soon. I imagine driving through the night, only stopping to fill the tank with gas. I contemplate drive forever, until we reach a place that feels like home where we could start over.

I think if what lies ahead and my stomach churns. We can’t go home- he’s there. We can’t go to the police or he’ll report the car as stolen- our only shelter from the elements. I drive until I reach the next town over. I find the local park and stop the car in the far back corner of the lot, turning off the lights and locking the doors. I step out and pull Maya her car seat. I get back in, in the passenger seat this time, and recline the seat as far back as it will go, resting her on my chest. I pull a blanket over us both and set an alarm on my phone for 5 AM- that should be early enough.

I close my eyes and wish for sleep, for this to all be a dream, for everything we left behind us to be there when we wake up.