During dinner, my daughter quietly slipped a folded note in front of me. “Pretend You’re

As we drove away from our home, Sarah’s face remained tense, her eyes darting back to the place we had just left.

I couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in my stomach. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, as I awaited the explanation that would justify such a drastic move.

“Sarah, what is going on?” I asked, my voice a mix of concern and impatience. “Why did I need to leave?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears that she quickly blinked away. “Mom, I’ve been hearing things,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “About Dad. Conversations he didn’t think I could hear. He’s… he’s planning something bad with his partners.”