Six months later, the early spring sun streamed through the bay windows of my living room, illuminating a quiet, pristine, peaceful space.

The house no longer smelled of Julian’s heavy cologne, or carried the low, constant hum of tension that his lies had filled every room with, a tension I had lived inside so long I had stopped noticing it, until it was gone and I felt, suddenly, how much lighter the air was without it.

Now the house smelled of fresh jasmine, and lemon wood polish, and the sweet clean smell of baby powder.

I sat on a plush area rug on the living room floor, watching my six-month-old daughter, Maya, giggle with delight as she rolled a soft wooden ball back and forth between her tiny hands.