Part 1How to Freeze a Husband

This winter, our family flew to Fairbanks, Alaska, to see the snow.

My husband forbade me from buying a heavy winter parka, claiming it wasn’t actually that cold and he wasn't going to let me waste his money.

I obeyed. I packed only a light autumn jacket and a pair of thin leather loafers.

But when no one was looking, I silently typed into my phone’s search bar:

How long does it take for a grown man to freeze to death at thirty below zero?

* * *

It was late November. My husband, Derek, announced that things were slow at his firm and he wanted to use his remaining PTO to take the family on a vacation.

Our son had been begging to see the Northern Lights and real snow for months, so the destination was set: Fairbanks, Alaska.

A week before our flight, I was scrolling through an outdoor apparel site, looking at down jackets.

Derek caught a glimpse of my phone screen. His jaw tightened instantly.

"Jesus, you really are a black hole for money, aren't you?" he snapped. "Who told you to buy a parka? It’s a five-hundred-dollar coat you’re going to wear exactly once. What’s the point?"

I panicked, words tumbling out in a rush. "The forecast says it’s going to drop to minus thirty degrees at night."

"It’s a dry cold up north, Nora. Not like the humidity down here. It’s purely physical. Down here, the dampness gets into your bones. Up there, you barely feel it."

We lived in Miami. It was hot year-round. On the absolute coldest days of January, a fleece zip-up was more than enough.

Derek’s face had already shifted into that familiar, terrifying mask of irritation. He snatched the phone from my hands, aggressively tapping the screen to delete every item in my cart.

Then, with a disgusted scoff, he lobbed the phone back at me.

The heavy corner of the device struck me squarely in the orbital bone. I let out a sharp cry of pain, tears welling up instantly as a dull, throbbing heat radiated across my face.

He just smiled. It was a vicious, triumphant smirk. "I break my back providing for this family, and you bleed my wallet dry without a second thought. I swear to God, marrying a miserable bitch like you was the biggest mistake of my life."

I didn’t say a word. I just stood up, walked quietly into the master bathroom, and ran the cold tap, splashing water over my rapidly swelling eye.

I knew better. Talking back to Derek only ever bought me a more savage beating.

When I finally crept back into the bedroom, the lights were off. Derek was already snoring.

I moved silently to the edge of the mattress, standing there in the dark, staring down at him without blinking.

If I did something to him right now, I thought, would he even wake up in time?

No. I had to hold back. For my two kids, I had to swallow the bile in my throat.

They could survive growing up in a house without a father. But they could never survive having a mother in a prison jumpsuit.

Following Derek’s strict orders, we packed only light jackets and everyday shoes. I didn't even pack thermal underwear. We each had a small carry-on, half empty.

On the drive to Miami International, Derek gripped the steering wheel, holding court from the driver’s seat.

"Don't grow up to be like your mother, kids. Crying over every little thing. We’re used to the damp cold of Florida—we’re practically bulletproof. Alaska’s got nothing on us. You’ll see when we land."

Miles and Sophie were in elementary school, at that vibrant, chaotic age where all they cared about was the adventure. They were buzzing with excitement, completely tuning out their father’s lecture.

I turned to Derek, forcing my lips into a gentle, adoring smile. "You always know best, honey."

He took one hand off the wheel and pinched my cheek—hard enough to hurt, but disguised as affection. He smirked, satisfied.

"That’s a good girl."

In his eyes, I wasn't a person. I was a prop. A doll he could bend to his will.

If I cooked a meal he didn't like, he’d throw the plate at the wall, or worse, over my head. If he wanted sex, the time and place didn't matter; I was expected to submit, breathless and compliant. If he had a bad day at work, or even just a nightmare, it became a valid excuse to use his fists on me.

Every single day I spent with him was lived in a state of suffocating, vibrating terror.

Hours later, the jet engines roared as we climbed to thirty thousand feet.

Derek kept slapping the side of his head, irritated by the pressure popping his ears.

I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispered softly.

"Enjoy the ride to hell, my love."