Rachel’s mornings used to be filled with purpose, albeit not her own. Every step of her routine—brushing the countertops twice, folding Kevin’s shirt collars just so, checking the thermostat precisely at 72°F—was dictated by her husband’s preferences. What once felt like love slowly eroded into obedience, and somewhere between the third year of marriage and the fifteenth, Rachel forgot who she was.

But that morning, something changed. Kevin had kissed her cheek and muttered the usual: “Late meeting. Don’t wait up.” Yet he’d left his laptop at home. Again. Rachel stood in the hallway, staring at the device. Something in her gut twisted. She picked up her phone, thumb hovering over the record button. She’d been using the voice notes app to document her tasks and routines—a quiet journal of servitude.

But now, Rachel pressed “record” for a new reason. **”Entry 457. I think Kevin’s lying to me.” ** She grabbed her coat, keys, and a coffee-to-go she didn’t

even want, then slipped into her car. She kept a few car lengths behind Kevin’s silver sedan as he drove, not toward his office like usual, but across town. Read more below