But that win didn’t fix the silence in our house. Maya still didn’t want to talk about soccer. She still looked at her shoes when we walked past the park. I had saved her from him, but I couldn’t give her back the four years of joy she had lost.

Mostly, I just drove home and made her pasta. We sat at the kitchen table, the neon green socks long gone from our trash can, the house quiet. Dave didn’t talk about the arrest, and I didn’t either. You win, and then it’s just a Tuesday again.