But the apartment was still mine. My accounts were clean. My daughter was safe.

And I was no longer counting lies like coins on a table. Now I was counting breaths. Lucy’s as she slept. Mine as I woke up. The breaths of a life that didn’t look like the one promised at the wedding, but rather the one I managed to save with my own hands.

That afternoon, while the leaves rustled above us, Lucy opened her eyes. They were dark, attentive, enormous. She looked at me as if I were her whole world.

I adjusted her beanie and said softly: —”No one is ever taking us out of our home again, my love.”

She moved her mouth, as if she wanted to answer. And even though it was just a baby’s reflex, it felt like a promise to me.

The city kept humming around us. The street musician on the corner. The cars on the avenue. The laughter, the footsteps, the vendors. Life.

And this time, finally, I wasn’t waiting for someone to lie to me again. I was starting over.