But safety did not mean I was immediately free.
I still woke at night remembering his footsteps in the hallway.
I still found myself looking over my shoulder whenever a car slowed outside the house.
And sometimes, while making tea, I would remember the man who had opened that jar of jam for me and wonder how someone could make tenderness look so convincing.
Three months later, I sat in my solicitor’s office and signed a new set of documents.
My accounts were secure. My estate arrangements had been reviewed, my property was protected, and the disputed financial claims were being handled through the proper legal channels.
Daniel remained in custody while the case proceeded.
I had not visited him.
He had sent letters through his lawyer, insisting that he loved me, that desperation had driven him to terrible decisions, and that he had never truly intended to hurt me.
