Everything was fine. Our lives, manageable. That is, until James took his yearly trip to visit his parents in Seattle. I was clingy and needy; begging him not to go. He was rough and cruel, leaving me by the side of his bed as he walked out the door to catch his plane. I made my way home and found my hidden supply, swallowing down pills that I couldn't even identify; trying to block out the need and panic that his leaving erupted inside of me. I couldn't just let him leave like that, so I tried to find someone to take the kid, under the guise of traveling to my mother's in Phoenix for an emergency. No one was available, so I decided to just take him with me. How much trouble could a three-year-old cause?