As the night fell, so did the weight of my decision. Leaving wasn’t just about protecting Olivia; it was about reclaiming my life from the people who failed to value it. I spent the evening comforting Olivia, whispering assurances that she was safe, that she would never have to face the cruelty of our family again. Her breathing steadied, and soon, she was fast asleep, trustingly nestled against me. But my mind was wide awake, plotting the next steps with a clarity that was both terrifying and empowering.
By dawn, I had contacted the necessary people—lawyers, financial advisors, and even the local authorities. The plan I had conceived in the quiet hours of the night sprung to life with each call. First, I secured an emergency injunction that would prevent my father from accessing the business accounts he had taken for granted for years. As the primary stakeholder, it was well within my rights, albeit something I had never exercised for fear of familial discord. My departure wasn’t just physical; it was a financial and emotional severance that spoke louder than any confrontation could.
Next, I called my father’s business partners. The stories they heard were likely shocking; after all, the image he projected was as polished as a marble statue. Behind closed doors, however, was the reality they were only beginning to grasp. I knew he would be furious, but his anger was a small price to pay for ensuring Olivia’s safety and my own peace of mind.
