The sound of scissors slicing through plastic echoed in Samantha's kitchen as I cut up another credit card. My hands shook slightly, but I forced myself to finish the job. Each snip felt like cutting away a piece of my old life.

"Are you sure about this?" Samantha asked, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. The concern in her eyes made my throat tighten.

"I have to be," I replied, dropping the plastic shards into a small pile. "If I keep using these cards, they can track me."

Three weeks had passed since the divorce was finalized. Three weeks of planning, plotting, and preparing to disappear. The...