That night, I sat on the edge of Lily’s bed, watching her eyelashes flutter in sleep. Her favorite stuffed rabbit, Mr. Whiskers, lay tucked under her arm. A small suitcase leaned against the wall, filled with essentials — pajamas, a change of clothes, a few cherished books. I had packed one of my own as well, slipping in everything we might need for a few days away.
Lily’s breathing was soft and steady, a gentle reminder of why I had made the decision. I had spent hours that night pondering the implications, the potential fallout, and the inevitable confrontation. My mind had returned again and again to the image of her alone on the kitchen floor, and the unfairness of it all settled into my bones.
In the quiet of the room, my resolve had crystallized. I knew that leaving without an explanation might seem rash or even confrontational, but I was past caring about appearances. Lily’s wellbeing was my sole concern, and it was clear to me that staying in an environment where she was treated as less than was no longer an option.
