The three-story brick building had been my prison for so many years.

Every corner of it was filled with memories of Margaret’s cold voice and Arthur’s long absences.

“I don’t think I can live there again,” I said softly.

“Not after everything.”

Richard leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“You don’t have to live there, Emily,” he said.

“We could sell it.”

“Or we could do something else with it.”

I looked at Nora, then back at Richard.

“I want to turn it into a shelter,” I said, the idea suddenly clear in my mind.

“A safe place for mothers who have nowhere to go.”

“Women who are trapped in bad situations, just like I was.”

“I want them to have a key that actually belongs to them.”

“A key that represents safety, not fear.”

Nora smiled, a genuine, warm expression that softened her sharp features.

“That is a very good idea, Emily,” Nora said.

“And legally, we can structure the trust to fund it entirely.”

“Arthur’s estate is worth millions.”

“You have the resources to run this shelter for the rest of your life.”