My son brought his fiancée to Thanksgiving, and when I saw the texts on her phone…

“When you think about the wedding, about marrying my son, do you feel happy? Or do you feel relieved that you won’t disappoint him?”

A tear slid down her cheek. Then another.

“I love him,” she whispered.

“I do. He’s successful and smart, and everyone says we’re perfect together. My parents adore him. He’s going to be a partner at his firm. We’ll have a beautiful life.”

“And what about you? What will you have?” She crumpled then, sobbing into her hands.

I pulled her into my arms—this girl who was supposed to become my daughter-in-law—and let her cry.

“He checks my email,” she said between sobs.

“My texts, my location, always. He picks out my clothes because he says I don’t dress appropriately. He got angry when I went to lunch with a coworker.”

She said she was trying to turn me against him.

“I’m not allowed to talk to my brother anymore because Michael thinks he’s jealous of what we have. I can’t remember the last time I made a decision without asking him first.”

Ice flooded my veins. This was my son, my Michael, the boy I’d raised, read stories to, taught to ride a bike, and he’d become the thing I’d spent 3 years escaping.

“We’re going to fix this,” I said.

“I can’t leave him. The wedding’s in 3 months. Everyone’s coming. My dress is already altered. The deposits are paid.”

“Rachel, listen to me.” I held her shoulders, made her meet my eyes.

“None of that matters. Not the dress, not the deposits, not what people will think. The only thing that matters is your safety and your freedom.”

“But I love him.”

“Love doesn’t demand you ask permission to pour wine. Love doesn’t isolate you from friends and family. Love doesn’t track your every movement or read your private messages.”

I brushed tears from her cheeks.

“What you’re describing isn’t love. It’s a prison with nice curtains.”

She was shaking now, full body tremors.

“I don’t know how to leave. He’ll be so angry. He’ll say I’m overreacting, that I’m throwing away our future. He’ll call my parents and tell them I’m being irrational. They’ll believe him. They always believe him.”

“You’re not crazy and you’re not overreacting.” I grabbed a paper towel and handed it to her.

“But we need to be smart about this. Do you have anywhere safe to go?”

“My friend Jessica. I haven’t talked to her in months, but before that we were close. Michael said she was trying to sabotage our relationship because she was single and jealous.”

“Do you believe that?” Rachel paused, really thinking about it.

“No. Jessica warned me. Last summer she said Michael seemed controlling. I got angry with her. Said she didn’t understand him. But she was right. She was right the whole time.”

“Can you contact her?” “Michael checks my phone every night before bed. He has all my passwords.”

Of course he did. I thought fast.

“My phone. Use my phone. Go into the bathroom, lock the door, and call her.”

“Ask if you can stay with her for a few days. Don’t explain everything now. Just say you need space and you’ll explain later.”

“What about Michael? What will we tell him?”

“Let me worry about Michael.” She looked terrified, but nodded.

I gave her my phone then stood guard in the hallway while she locked herself in the bathroom. Through the door, I heard her voice, shaky at first, then stronger.

“Jessica, it’s Rachel. I know I haven’t called in forever and I’m so sorry. I need help. Can I please stay with you for a few days? Please.”

My heart pounded. Please let Jessica say yes. Please let this girl have one friend left who cares.

Rachel emerged 5 minutes later, eyes red but determined.

“She said yes. She’s coming to pick me up. She said to go somewhere public and wait. That she’ll be there in an hour.”

“Good. Here’s what we’re going to do.” I was already formulating a plan.

“I’m going to tell Michael and your father that you and I are going to the store for whipped cream. I forgot to buy it. Completely slipped my mind. We’ll take my car. Jessica can meet us at the grocery store parking lot.”

“You’ll get in her car and I’ll come back here alone.”

“But what will you tell Michael?”

“That you felt sick. That Jessica picked you up and is taking you home. That you’ll call him tomorrow.”

“He’ll come to my apartment.”

“Does he have a key?” “Yes.”

“Then you’re not going to your apartment. You’re staying with Jessica. When you’re ready, we’ll arrange for someone to pack your things. But tonight, you’re getting out.”

“He’ll call you. He’ll come here. He’ll be furious.”

“Let him be furious.” I straightened my spine, feeling 50 years of resolve solidifying into steel.

“I’ve faced down angry men before, Rachel. I survived my first husband and I’ll survive my son’s temper. You just worry about yourself.”

She grabbed my hand.

“Why are you doing this? I’m not even your daughter. I’m just…”

“You’re a young woman who deserves better than what my son is giving you. And because if I don’t help you now, I’ll have to live with knowing I let you walk into the same hell I barely escaped.”

I squeezed her hand.

“Now fix your makeup. We’re going to the store.”

Michael looked up from his coffee when we came back into the living room.

“Everything okay?” “I heard crying.”

“Happy tears,” I lied smoothly.

“We were talking about the wedding. You know how emotional women get.”

He smiled, satisfied with this answer. Men like Michael always believed what they wanted to believe.

“Actually honey, I completely forgot whipped cream. Rachel and I are going to run to the store real quick.”

“I can go,” Michael said, already standing.

“No, no, stay with your father. Rachel and I want to chat more. Mother-in-law, daughter-in-law bonding.”

I kept my voice light, casual. He looked at Rachel.

“You okay with that?” The fact that he was asking her permission to ride in a car with his mother should have been all the red flag I needed.

“Of course,” Rachel said. Her voice only shook slightly.

We grabbed our coats and headed out. In my car, Rachel started crying again.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to get you to Jessica.”

The grocery store was 15 minutes away. I drove carefully, checking my mirrors.

Part of me worried Michael would follow us, but his car stayed in our driveway. Jessica was already there, a petite blonde in a Honda Civic, engine running.

She jumped out when she saw Rachel.

“Oh my god, Ratch!” They hugged, both crying now.

I introduced myself quickly, then gave Jessica my number.

“Call me if you need anything. Money, a lawyer’s number, anything.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Patterson.” Jessica’s eyes were fierce.

“I’ve got her. She’s safe now.”

Rachel hugged me one more time.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I’m so sorry about Michael.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. He does.” I cupped her face.

“Be safe. Be strong. And remember, you deserve someone who treats you like a partner, not a possession.”

I watched them drive away, then bought whipped cream and drove home. My hands shook on the steering wheel.

Michael met me at the door.

“Where’s Rachel?”

“She started feeling sick in the store. Stomach bug, I think. Her friend Jessica was nearby and offered to take her home.”