20 I made my decision three days later, after a morning spent hunched over the toilet, my body rejecting even the bland toast I'd managed to choke down for breakfast. Paris would be my refuge-a place to think, to plan, to prepare for the life-changing event barreling toward me. Isabelle Moreau, my friend from design school days, responded enthusiastically to my email asking about short-term accommodations in Paris. "My spare room is yours for as long as you need," she wrote. "The neighborhood is quiet, perfect for working remotely. When can I expect you?" The practicalities came together with surprising speed. A three-month sabbatical from Shepherd Design Studio, approved with minimal questions thanks to Victoria's intervention. A sublet arrangement for my barely-unpacked apartment. An international driver's license, just in case. First-class tickets to Paris, a splurge justified by the nausea that still plagued me most mornings. I told no one about the pregnancy. Not my father, not my few close friends, certainly not Lucas. The secret fel both precious and terrifying-a responsibility I wasn't ready to share, a reality I was still coming to terms with myself. The night before my flight, I sat at my small desk, a blank sheet of paper before me. I needed to leave something for my father, who was traveling in Asia on business and wouldn't return for several weeks. I couldn't disappear without explanation. After several false starts, I finally wrote: Dear Dad, By the time you read this, I'll be in Paris. I know this will come as a shock, but I need some time away to clear my head and figure out my next steps. There's something else you should know-I'm pregnant. About eight weeks along now. Yes, it's Lucas's. It happened the night before our divorce was finalized. I haven't told him yet. I need time to think about what this means, about what kind of future I want for myself and this child, without the pressure of Lucas's presence or his sense of obligation. I know you'll probably think I'm being foolish, and maybe I am. But this is something I need to do. I'll be staying with Isabelle Moreau-you remember her from my design school days. I'll be safe and well taken care Please don't tell Lucas where I've gone. He'll be angry and hurt enough when he discovers I've left without saying goodbye. If he knows where to find me, he'll follow, and I need this time alone. I love you, Dad. I'll call when I'm settled. Autumn I sealed the letter in an envelope and arranged for it to be delivered after I was gone. Then I began a second letter, this one even more difficult to write. Lucas, By the time you read this, I'll be gone. Not forever, but for a while. I need some time and space to think about what I want, about the future, about everything that's happened between us. Please don't try to find me. I promise I'll be in touch when I'm ready. Autumn I hesitated, pen hovering over the paper. Should I mention the pregnancy? Give some hint about the real reason for my sudden departure? In the end, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Not in a letter. Not when I still wasn't sure what I wanted or needed from him. Not when I couldn't be there to see his reaction, to know if his response came from genuine feeling or a sense of duty. I sealed this letter too, arranging for it to be delivered to the penthouse the day after my departure. As I finished packing my suitcase that night, doubt crept in. Was I doing the right thing? Was running away ever the answer? Or was I just repeating the pattern that had led me to Paris once before, seeking distance when what I really needed was clarity? But when morning came, I gathered my things, took one last look around my apartment, and closed the door behind me. At the airport, I turned off my phone, cutting the final connection to the life I was temporarily eaving behind. As the plane took off, carrying me away from Northbrook, away from Lucas, away from the complications of my life there, I felt a strange mixture of relief and sadness. My hand rested protectively over my stomach, where our child grew, oblivious to its mother's confusion and fear. 'It's just you and me for a while, little one," I whispered. "Just until I figure things out." But even as the words left my lips, I wondered if I was making the biggest mistake of my life.