It’s been six months since I had my husband arrested for choking and beating me. He’s been back to the house only once since and that was with a police escort. And this morning I realized that his bath products still sat on the top shelf of the shower caddy.

I’d bounded into the shower after a spectacular run on a sunny and mild winter’s day. I was thrilled to be heading off to church alone, not having to prod or coax any defiant children into church-appropriate clothes and into the car. Music was blasting (I forgot how much I loved Live’s “Throwing Copper” album), I was thanking God for granting me the peace I’d prayed for as Christmas approached. And then there it was staring me in the face. I also realized that his razor remained on my bathroom sink, his cologne sat on my dresser.

Guess where they all are now.