Chapter 2 - The Escape Plan
At eight o'clock the next morning, the sun barely cresting the horizon, Cassidy sat at her desk and dialed her closest friend, Simone.
Simone answered on the second ring, her voice raspy with sleep. "Cass? Do you know what time it is? It's Black Friday. Most sane people are sleeping."
"Simone, I need a massive favor," Cassidy said, her voice steady and resolute.
Simone was instantly awake, the sleep vanishing from her tone. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. Remember that spare bedroom in your townhouse you mentioned a few months ago when we talked about moving?"
"Yeah... my guest room. It's still empty. My cousin backed out of taking it."
"Is it still available?"
"Absolutely. When do you need it?"
"Today," Cassidy said without hesitation.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Simone let out a low whistle. "Cassidy... what on earth happened? Did something blow up?"
"My parents told me to move out last night during Thanksgiving dinner."
Simone knew the entire saga. She had listened to Cassidy cry, vent, and calculate household budgets over countless cups of coffee for years. She didn't waste time with platitudes or hesitation.
"Come over," Simone said firmly. "I'll make space this morning. Take whatever you need."
"Thank you, Simone. I'll see you in a couple of hours."
Cassidy hung up the phone and stood up. She walked to her closet and pulled down two large, durable suitcases she hadn't used since a vacation three years ago.
She packed methodically. Clothes for work, casual wear, winter coats. Her laptop and charger. Important legal and financial documents locked inside a folio. Photographs of her childhood friends, her high school graduation, and pictures of Wren. Finally, she reached to the top shelf of her closet and retrieved Grandma Florence’s wooden jewelry box—a modest heirloom containing a few silver rings and sentimental trinkets that meant more to her than gold.
As she zipped the second suitcase shut, a soft knock sounded at her bedroom door.
Wren pushed it open, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, clutching the hem of her oversized sweatshirt.
"You're really leaving?" Wren whispered, as if speaking too loudly might summon their parents.
"Yes," Cassidy said softly, turning away from the packed bags.
Wren walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, her lower lip trembling. "Mom thinks you're just angry and that you'll get over it by tomorrow. She thinks you're throwing a tantrum."
Cassidy offered a faint, melancholy smile. "I'm not angry enough to stay, Wren. That's the difference. I'm just done."
Wren's eyes filled with fresh tears, spilling over her lashes. "Who's going to help me with college applications? Who's going to listen when Mom and Dad lose their minds over Brent?"
Cassidy sat down beside her younger sister, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.
"I'm not leaving you, Wren. Listen to me. Simone only lives twenty minutes away. You have my phone number memorized, and you can call or text me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. We are going to get you into that environmental science program, I promise you."
Wren nodded, wiping her nose with her sleeve.
Cassidy stood up, hoisted the first heavy suitcase, and walked it down the hallway toward the front door. She returned for the second bag and her laptop case.
She had almost reached the front entryway when the kitchen door swung open, and Eleanor bustled out, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
"Cassidy!" Eleanor called out, her voice pitching up in surprise.
Cassidy stopped, turning to face her mother.
For one brief, foolish second—a pathetic reflex born of a lifetime of conditioning—Cassidy actually expected an apology. Maybe her mother would say they had reconsidered. Maybe she would finally realize what the household was about to lose.
Instead, Eleanor took in the sight of the packed suitcases resting by the front door, frowned, and asked the question that permanently shattered any remaining illusions Cassidy held about her family.
"Honey... you'll still cover the mortgage, won't you? And the electric bill?"
Cassidy stared at her mother. The sheer audacity, the breathtaking self-absorption of the question hung in the stale air between them like a physical barrier. Eleanor genuinely, sincerely seemed confused by the silence that followed.
Cassidy opened her mouth, weighed every word she had ever wanted to say, and distilled four years of sacrifice, exploitation, and disrespect into a single, devastating syllable.
"No."
Eleanor's face went entirely pale, her jaw dropping. "What do you mean, no? How are we supposed to—"
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Cassidy didn't wait to hear the rest. She turned her back on her mother, opened the front door, and walked out into the crisp November air, loading her bags into the trunk of her sedan.
She drove away without looking in the rearview mirror.
