The cycle had to end—and I was the only one who could end it.

I opened my laptop and began researching: jobs in other states, cities with good schools and affordable housing, legal resources for cutting ties with harmful family members. By three in the morning, I had a rough plan written out in frantic, tear-smudged notes.

The next day, I called in sick and spent hours on the phone. I contacted a family lawyer in Vermont offering a free consultation. I applied to library jobs in Burlington, Montpelier, and Rutland. I researched restraining orders and how to legally protect Ava from my parents.

My phone buzzed nonstop with messages from my mother, each one more vicious than the last. You embarrassed us. How dare you. Brooke says you upset Taylor. Apologize now. Your father says you should pay for the clothes.
I deleted every message without replying—each swipe a small step toward freedom.

Three days later, Brooke called.

I answered—not out of hope, but curiosity—to hear just how far their version of reality had drifted.

“Mom says you’re ignoring her,” Brooke said, her tone dripping with accusation. “That’s pretty immature, Riley.”

“Is there something you need, Brooke?” I kept my voice flat, a calm I didn’t feel.

“Actually, yes. Taylor’s birthday is next month, and Mom suggested we do a joint party with Ava since their birthdays are so close. We’re thinking you could help pay for the venue and the cake.”

I laughed. It burst out of me before I could stop it, a harsh, bitter sound that didn’t quite sound like me. “Are you serious right now?”

“What is your problem?” Brooke’s voice sharpened. “It would be good for the girls to celebrate together. Taylor would probably even let Ava play with that doll during the party.”

“The doll you stole from my daughter, you mean?”

“Oh my god, you’re still on about that? It was just a toy, Riley. Stop being so dramatic. Besides, Taylor appreciates it more than Ava would have. Your daughter doesn’t take care of her things anyway.”

I ended the call. My hands were trembling again, but this time it was anger, not fear. That conversation sealed everything for me—they were incapable of regret, incapable of recognizing the harm they’d caused.

The next two weeks passed in a haze of quiet preparation. Then an email arrived that changed everything. A library in Burlington, Vermont offered me a position with a salary twenty percent higher than my current pay. It included health insurance and, most importantly, relocation assistance. I accepted without hesitation. I gave my landlord thirty days’ notice, hired a small moving company, and enrolled Ava in her new school online. Everything came together with an ease that felt almost unreal, as if the universe itself were finally backing my choice to put myself and my daughter first.

I didn’t tell my family. They found out when my mother happened to drive by my apartment and saw the moving truck. She called seventeen times in one hour. I ignored every call. Eventually, she left a voicemail I wish I’d saved as proof of who she really was.

“You selfish, ungrateful girl! After everything we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us? You’re stealing our granddaughter! Brooke is heartbroken! Taylor keeps asking why Ava doesn’t want to be her cousin anymore! You’re tearing this family apart, Riley! Don’t think you can just run away and start over. We’ll find you. We’ll make sure everyone knows what kind of person you really are!”

The messages didn’t stop. My father warned I’d never make it on my own. Brooke texted that Ava would grow up broken without her cousins. They cycled through guilt, threats, and finally weak attempts at reconciliation. My mother’s last message—before I blocked them all—came the night before we left.