“If I stay one more night, I might not live to see the morning.”

The words echoed in my head like a drumbeat as I zipped the last bag shut.

My hands trembled slightly. I wiped my palms on my jeans, glanced at the clock—it was almost 7 p.m. Fiona and Elvis had gone out. A romantic dinner, maybe. Or something worse. I didn’t care anymore. I couldn’t afford to.

I grabbed my small suitcase and stepped into the hallway. The house was too quiet, almost like it knew I was about ...