Just ten minutes into our road trip, my husband pulled over and screamed, ‘Get out!’ Then he dragged me and our 4-year-old son onto the side of the highway. I thought he’d lost his mind—until I saw what was missing from the car.

The morning sun was already baking the asphalt of I-95 when we set off. It was supposed to be the start of our new life—a fresh chapter in a coastal city three hours away. David had packed the black SUV with military precision the night before, stacking suitcases and boxes like a game of Tetris while I bathed our son, Leo.

Inside the car, the air conditioning was blasting, creating a frigid, artificial microclimate that contrasted sharply with the heat waves radiating off the hood. I tried to find a comfortable position, my legs cramping from the tension that had filled our home for the last month.