Outside my windows, children play in a new pediatric garden, funded entirely by the Frances Brennan Children’s Nutrition Foundation, which Harrison and I started together six months after I recovered.

My children are gone from my life.

Their cases ended in restitution, and probation, and permanent records for fraud; Trent lost his accounting license, Bianca sold the car I had paid for to cover her legal fees, and Wade works in a shop in another county.

I feel no hatred toward them.

I take no joy in their falling.

I feel only a deep and settled peace — the quiet peace of a woman who went through the storm and came out the other side with her dignity in her own two hands.

People find that hard to believe, when they hear the story.