The driveway was filled with flashing blue lights. Neighbors were standing on their porches, whispering and watching as my husband was loaded into the back of a police cruiser.

I watched from the kitchen window. I didn’t cry.

Eleanor stayed with me for hours, sorting through the legal mess. The bank accounts were frozen and secured.

The custody petition was thrown out before it even reached a judge’s desk.

It has been six months since that morning.

The divorce was finalized last week. Edward took a plea deal for the forgery and is currently serving probation, his career in commercial real estate completely ruined. Sylvia’s business dissolved after the scandal went public.

I should have felt some massive, triumphant relief when the judge signed the final decree. I kept waiting for that feeling.

But mostly, I just drove home, made Danny some pasta, and did the laundry.

You win, and then it’s just a Tuesday again.

The green ceramic mug is still in the cupboard. I didn’t throw it away. I use it to water the small basil plant on the windowsill now.

Yesterday, Danny came down the stairs in his dinosaur pajamas. He wasn’t shivering anymore.

He asked if we could go to the park tomorrow.

“We can go anywhere you want, sweetie,” I said, kissing his forehead.

He smiled, grabbed his backpack, and ran toward the front door. I watched him go, feeling the cold weight finally lift from my chest. We have a long way to go, but we are going forward.