My husband booked himself a first-class seat and shoved me into the last row with our triplets — before the plane even leveled off, he was back at my side, ash-gray and shaking, whispering, "How could you do this to me?"

I called Eleanor from a family restroom in the terminal while the babies sat in a row on the changing mat, briefly distracted by a set of plastic keys I'd dug out of the bottom of the bag.

She picked up on the first ring.

"Nora. Thank you for calling."

"What is it you need to tell me?"

A pause — not hesitation, more like she was choosing where to start.

"Grant's bonus," she said. "The one that's supposed to pay back your savings."

"Yes."

"There is no bonus. There hasn't been one in two years. He was let go from Bradford & Vance fourteen months ago. He's been telling you he goes to work every morning. He hasn't had a job since March of last year."

The plastic keys hit the floor. June looked up, startled more by my stillness than the noise.

"That's not possible," I said. "He leaves at eight every day. He's home by six."

"I know what he actually does," Eleanor said. "My daughter works at the Bluebird Café on Halsted Street. She's seen him there. He shows up around nine and stays until four. Sometimes he meets people. Once, she said, he was there with a woman."

Bethany. Or someone else. I didn't know anymore.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

Another pause. Longer.

"Because Sylvia knew," Eleanor said. "My sister. Grant's mother. She's known for almost a year. He asked her not to tell you — said you were planning to leave him anyway, that you were hiding money from him, that he was protecting himself." Her voice tightened. "I told her she was wrong to stay quiet. We haven't really spoken since January."

I sat down on the edge of the changing table. June immediately tried to climb into my lap.

"He's been living off my savings," I said. "For over a year."

"I believe so. I don't know the exact amounts. But I wanted you to know before you got to that resort. Before he had you stuck somewhere with three babies, a dead card, and no easy way home."

"Eleanor. Do you know a good lawyer?"

"My husband is one. Retired. But he still knows everyone. I'll text you a name."

"Thank you."

"Nora." Her voice softened. "I'm sorry it took me this long."

I didn't tell her it was all right. It wasn't. But I understood the spot she'd been in, wedged between her sister and the truth.

"I have to go," I said. "He'll be looking for me."

"Be careful. When he figures out the card is really frozen — not just delayed — he's going to push harder."

"I know."

"Don't be alone with him if you can help it."

I hung up, gathered the babies, took a breath, and opened the door.

Grant was twenty feet away, leaning on a pillar, watching the restroom door.

"I've been standing here fifteen minutes," he said.

"The babies needed changing."

He looked at the three of them, then back at me. "We have to fix the card. The hotel wants a deposit."

"I called the bank," I said. Not entirely a lie. "There's a hold. Twenty-four hours to clear."

His jaw worked. "Twenty-four hours."

"Yes."

"So we've got nothing for the hotel."

"You could use your own card," I said.

He looked at me for a long moment, and I watched him try to decide which version of himself to be — the charming husband, the wronged partner, the man in control. None of them fit right anymore.

"Fine," he said at last. "We'll sort it at the hotel."

He picked up his bag and walked toward the exit. I followed, three babies in tow, and texted Bethany one line: Don't check in. Find somewhere else tonight. I'll explain later.

Her reply came before I reached the doors. Already did. I'm at the airport hotel. Are you safe?