He shook his head. “I don’t want to cause trouble between you and your stepmother. She already hates me.”

I swallowed down the rising anger. “She doesn’t get the final say this time. Trust me.”

I scooped up one of his bags, and with my free hand, I gently stroked the puppy’s head. It whimpered but nestled closer to him. He had clearly found it hurt somewhere and couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

We loaded his things into my car, and I helped him settle into the passenger seat, puppy still in his arms. My chest burned as I turned the key in the ignition. For two years, I had stayed quiet, watching Marlene get bolder and nastier. But I had been preparing, gathering evidence, waiting for the right moment to act.

And now—it had finally arrived.