I would not live in his house, but I would not spend my remaining years holding the keys to his prison cell either.

I stood at the balcony railing and pulled the night air deep into my chest.

There was no smoke in the room, no factory dust in the corners, and no fear attached to the breath.

The air in this home belonged entirely to me.

I stepped back inside, slid the door shut, and pulled the thick cotton curtain across the glass.

I reached out, turned off the lamp, and walked across the dark room.

I sat down in my soft armchair by the window, watching the city lights flicker across the dark floorboards.

For the first time in seven months, I finally took a deep breath.