We stopped to fill up the car. My husband was driving, I was next to him…

In a parallel San Diego trial, Lauren Carter was also convicted of aiding fraud and preparing a serious crime. She received a three-year sentence, deferred until her children turned 14. The twins would stay with their grandmother if the sentence wasn’t commuted.

I had mixed feelings. Justice had to prevail, and she was guilty. But I genuinely pitied those innocent kids, caught in their parents’ criminal ambitions, now at risk of losing their mother’s care.

Two months after the final verdict, I moved to a new apartment. I left the lavish but now-hated Seattle condo, where every corner reminded me of Michael and our fraudulent marriage. I decided to start fresh in a new city: Portland.

I’d always loved its vibrant arts scene, charming streets, cozy cafés, and sense of community. I bought a modest loft in a historic building with high ceilings and a view of a bustling square, renovating it to my taste.

That terrifying night of horror and despair a year ago felt like a bad dream, almost unreal. At 36, I, Emily Johnson, had found true, hard-won freedom for the first time.

Free from a toxic, deceitful marriage, I discovered my own path, learning to live for myself, not someone else. Portland’s enchanting evenings, which I grew to adore, seemed to light the way to this new, uncharted, but deeply desired future.