I paused, my hand on the doorknob. “I do, sweetheart. Sometimes standing up for yourself means walking away.”

The door closed behind me with a quiet finality that echoed down the empty street as I made my way to a small motel on the outskirts of town. It was a modest place, nothing fancy, but it offered the solitude I needed. The days slipped by slowly, each one marked by quiet reflection and a sense of newfound freedom.

One week later, as I returned from a morning walk, the motel manager handed me a slip of paper with a bemused expression. “You’ve been popular,” he said. “Phone’s been ringing off the hook since this morning.”