I woke at three in the morning certain I could hear cups rattling in a kitchen.

Kai checked the deadbolt three and four times before he could sleep.

We both began seeing a therapist who worked with families after trauma, and slowly, unevenly, the nights got quieter.

I did not expect the guilt, and no one had warned me about it.

On paper I was the one who had gotten us out — the one who believed her son, made the plan, ran.

But in the small dark hours what I felt was not pride.