Chapter 1

The sun hit the kitchen island at a sharp, unforgiving angle, illuminating the crumbs and the dried rings of apple juice that Nia hadn’t had the strength to wipe away at midnight. In the bassinet near the pantry, the baby let out a jagged, rhythmic wail—the kind of cry that signaled a dirty diaper and a missed nap.

Nia didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her hands were anchored to the counter, her knuckles a pale contrast against her deep mahogany skin. She was tracking the sound of the ceiling fan and the steady, rhythmic *tap-tap-tap* of Marcus’s thumb against his phone screen. He was sitting three feet away from the crying child, his long legs stretched out, looking every bit the picture of suburban relaxation.

"Coffee’s almost done," Marcus said, his eyes never leaving the screen. He reached out, blindly patting the air for his mug. "You want the blue one or the cracked one?"

Nia didn't answer. The silence stretched, filled only by the baby’s escalating screams. Finally, Marcus looked up, blinking as if emerging from a deep fog. He saw Nia’s rigid back, the way her shoulders were hiked up to her ears. He cleared his throat, his expression shifting into that practiced look of gentle concern.

"Hey, babe," he said, sliding the phone into his pocket. "You look stressed. Is there anything I can help you with?"

The word *help* landed like a hot coal in the middle of the room. Nia turned slowly. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair pulled back into a puff that had survived three days of neglect.

"Help?" she repeated. Her voice was dangerously quiet.

"Yeah," Marcus said, standing up and gesturing vaguely at the overflowing sink. "Just tell me what needs to be done. I’m happy to jump in. I'm on your team, Nia."

"That’s the problem, Marcus. You aren't on the team. You're an intern waiting for a memo." She stepped toward him, her shadow falling over the pile of unfolded laundry on the table. "When you ask to 'help' me, you’re saying that this house, that baby, and the mental inventory of every grocery item we own belongs to me. You’re suggesting that I’m the CEO of this family and you’re just a volunteer who needs a task list to function."

Marcus flinched, his brow furrowing. "I’m just trying to be nice. I can’t read your mind, Nia. If you want the dishes done, just ask."

"I shouldn't have to ask! You have eyes, Marcus. You see the dishes. You hear the baby. But you choose to wait until I am at my breaking point so you can play the hero by 'helping' with a problem you live in every single day." She closed her eyes for a moment, an image flickering in her mind—an imaginary version of herself walking through a park, alone, with nothing in her pockets but a house key. No diaper bag. No schedule. No one asking her where the extra lightbulbs were kept.

"I imagine a day," Nia whispered, "where I don't have to think for two people. Where I don't have to narrate your own life to you just to get you to participate in it."

Marcus looked at the baby, then back at Nia. He looked genuinely startled, the weight of her words finally sinking through the layers of his comfortable oblivion. He moved toward the bassinet, his hands hovering over the crying infant. He looked at Nia, waiting for a nod, a correction, a "careful with his head."

Nia didn't give it to him. She didn't offer a single instruction.

Instead, she reached for her jacket hanging on the back of the chair. She grabbed her keys from the bowl by the door. The jingle of the metal was the loudest sound in the room, sharper even than the baby’s cries.

"Where are you going?" Marcus asked, his voice rising in a pitch of sudden panic as he lifted the baby. "Nia? How long will you be? What am I supposed to—"

Nia didn't look back. She opened the front door, letting in a rush of cool, fresh air that smelled of nothing but possibilities. She stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut, but she didn't hear the click of the latch. She left it an inch ajar, a sliver of the world outside remains open to the house, and a sliver of the chaos inside remains open to the street.

She walked toward the car, the silence of the morning air ringing in her ears, leaving Marcus standing in the kitchen with a screaming child and a list of questions she was no longer willing to answer.