I washed the dishes in the sink, watching the water drain away.

I walked out onto the back deck, holding a warm cup of herbal tea.

The stars were beginning to appear in the dark sky, brighter and clearer than they ever were in the city.

A cool breeze swept up from the valley, rustling the leaves of the oak trees.

I looked down at the dark, rocky soil beneath the deck.

This was the land my father had saved for me, a place of safety and strength.

The house was no longer a monument to a false marriage or a husband’s vanity.

It was finally home, resting on a foundation of honesty and hard work.

I took a deep breath of the night air, feeling the solid wood of the deck beneath my feet.

I was forty-seven years old, and my life was finally my own.