It makes you a survivor.

Sophia finished her bowl and held it up with a wide, expectant, utterly secure smile.

“More, please, Mommy!” And I smiled, and took the bowl, and walked to the stove to serve her a second helping.

And this time, in this home, at this table, there was more than enough to go around.

I have thought, since, about the shape of that final image, my daughter holding up an empty bowl and asking for more, in a home no one could take from her, and about why it moved me so much more than the courtroom victory or the reclaimed apartment ever did.

And I think it is because it was the exact inverse of where the whole story began.