“David Miller?” the taller officer asked, stepping into the apartment.

David looked at the officers, then at me. He started to cry, but they weren’t his pathetic manipulation tears anymore. This was real, cold terror.

“Please, Sarah! I’m sick! If they arrest me, I won’t get my treatments!” he screamed as they pulled his arms behind his back.

“You’ll get medical care in county, David,” the officer said calmly.

I watched the handcuffs click around his wrists. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

He was led down the hallway, screaming my name, his voice echoing off the cheap drywall. He looked so small. So pathetic.

I went back to his kitchen counter, picked up my blue spiral notebook, and walked out.

Six months later, the insurance company reinstated my payout after David’s conviction. The court ordered the seizure of his remaining assets, and the bank had to refund the stolen funds. I paid off my second mortgage. I paid every single cent of my medical debt.

Yesterday, I sat on my back porch with my blue spiral notebook. I opened it to a fresh, blank page. I didn’t write down a debt.

I just wrote down a list of places I wanted to see. Simple things. A cabin in the woods. A beach where the water was actually blue.

It’s not perfect. My joints still ache when it rains, and I still get nervous every time I go in for my yearly scan. But the house is paid off, and the mailbox doesn’t scare me anymore. I think that’s enough.