My husband Danny and I had five beautiful daughters, but he was fixated on having a son “to carry on the family name.” While I devoted myself to raising our girls at home, he focused on his business. Over time, his subtle hints about having a sixth child grew into a chilling ultimatum: either I gave him a boy, or he would end our marriage.
That night, I lay awake feeling heartbroken and torn, yet determined to stand my ground. The very next morning, I quietly packed a bag and left for my late mother’s countryside home, turning off my phone so no one could reach me. Back at home, Danny woke to total chaos: spilled juice on the floor, burnt toast in the kitchen, kids running wild, forgotten homework, and Play-Doh smeared on the carpet. Watching the home security cameras, I saw him unravel, struggling to manage everything alone.
