I didn’t go back to Noah’s apartment that night. I didn’t tell him where I was going, I didn’t even say goodbye.
I left Nova with him because deep down, I knew she was safest with her father. I didn’t trust myself to be anything but broken, and a broken mother makes dangerous choices so I packed a small overnight bag, booked the cheapest hotel in town, and disappeared.
Not forever, just long enough to breathe.
I sent one text before turning off my phone:
“I need time. I’ll come back. Don’t follow me.”
The hotel smelled like chlorine and bleach, like the room was trying too hard to feel clean. I collapsed on the stiff mattress without changing out of my clothes, eyes locked on the cracked ceiling tile above the flickering light.
I wasn’t angry or sad. Those feelings have movement, sha
