Eleanor was implicated as an accessory, her name dragged through the public mud she had spent her life trying to avoid.

But we did not watch the television in the hospital room.

We kept the screen off, focusing only on the soft sounds of our breathing babies.

Ethan resigned from his position as chief of surgery at the prestigious hospital.

He accepted a position at a small community clinic in upstate New York, far away from the high-society drama of Chicago.

We found a small, white house near the lake with a porch that caught the morning sun.

On the day we were cleared to leave the hospital, the air was crisp and cool.

I carried Leo in her infant car seat, and Ethan carried Jack.

We walked out of the sliding glass doors into the bright afternoon light.

There were no reporters, no lawyers, and no guards.

Just the sound of the wind in the trees and our modest sedan waiting in the parking lot.

Ethan strapped the babies into the backseat.

He closed the door gently and turned to me, his face relaxed in a way I had never seen before.