I thought our 10th anniversary would be about love, memories, and family. Instead, my husband handed me divorce papers, slapped me, and screamed for me to leave with our children. With my heart breaking, I picked them up, walked out, and said only four words.

“I’m okay,” I lied.

Her eyes moved to the children, then to the house glowing behind us. Through the window, Vanessa’s silhouette crossed the living room like she had already moved in.

Claire’s expression hardened. “Get in the car.”

As we drove away, Brent called eleven times. I did not answer. Then the texts started.

You’re being dramatic.

Bring the kids back.

You have no money.

You’ll regret this.

The last one came at 11:42 p.m.

If you try to use that video, I’ll destroy you.

I screenshotted everything.

Claire took us to her townhouse in Columbus. She put the children in her guest room, made hot chocolate, and sat beside me while I opened my laptop with shaking hands.

The kitchen camera had captured everything.

The papers. Vanessa entering. Brent slapping me. His words. The children screaming. My four words at the door.

Claire covered her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“I need a lawyer,” I said.