With time, patience, and therapy, Jane began to heal. Slowly, she started talking about what a home could mean for us — a place filled with peace, laughter, and love, free from the shadows of her past.

One evening, she surprised me by showing me a listing for a small, sunlit house with a little garden. It wasn’t fancy, but it was ours to shape. This time, she smiled and said, “What if we just go see it?”

A year later, we moved into that house.

Together, we painted the walls, chose colors she loved, and filled the rooms with our memories. In the sunniest corner, Jane placed a single plant she named “Freedom.” For the first time, home wasn’t a place of control or fear. It was a sanctuary — a space where she could breathe, grow, and finally feel at peace.