I still hear my own terrified whisper begging the 911 dispatcher to hurry, because I was certain the sudden silence downstairs meant I’d just lost my mom forever.

The trial started six months later.

I was ten now. Ethan was six. The sunflowers in our backyard were taller than both of us, their big yellow heads turned toward the sun.

Mom was calm. She’d been going to therapy every week, and she was stronger now. Her cast was long gone, and the bruises had all faded. She had a small scar on her forehead, from that night, but she didn’t try to hide it.

“It’s a reminder,” she told me once. “Of how far we’ve come.”

The trial lasted two weeks.

Vince testified first.

He looked smaller in his jail jumpsuit, quieter than I remembered. He told the jury everything. About the drinking. About the fights. About holding Mom down that winter night. About the night we called 911, about how David had hit Mom so hard she’d fallen and hit her head on the coffee table.

He said he was sorry.

I didn’t believe him. He was only sorry he got caught.

The jury saw the photos of Mom’s injuries. They saw the police report from that night. They heard my 911 call, played out loud in the courtroom.

I closed my eyes when it played.

I could still feel the rain on the window, still feel Ethan shaking next to me in the closet.

Then it was our turn to give victim impact statements.

Mom went first.

She stood in front of the jury, her back straight, her voice steady.

“For years, I lived in fear,” she said. “I was scared to leave my house. Scared to talk to my neighbors. Scared to even breathe wrong, because I didn’t know what would set him off. I stayed because I thought I was protecting my kids. But I was wrong. All I did was let them grow up scared, too. David Miller didn’t just hurt me. He hurt my children. He took years of their childhoods, years they’ll never get back. He doesn’t deserve mercy. He deserves to spend the rest of his life in prison, where he can never hurt anyone again.”

She sat down, and I squeezed her hand.

Then it was my turn.

I walked up to the stand, my legs a little shaky. The bailiff swore me in, and I looked out at the jury.

I didn’t look at Dad.

“I used to be scared all the time,” I said, my voice clear. “I was scared of loud noises. I was scared of men’s voices. I was scared to go to sleep at night, because I didn’t know if my mom would be there in the morning. I thought that fear would never go away. But it did. A little bit, every day. Because we got away. We have a new house, and new friends, and sunflowers in our backyard that my little brother planted. David Miller can’t take that from us. He can’t hurt us anymore. I just want him to know that. He lost. We won.”

I sat down.

Mom hugged me, tight.

The jury deliberated for three hours.

They came back guilty on all counts.

Felony assault in the second degree. Two counts of child endangerment. Stalking. Violation of a restraining order.

The judge sentenced him to fifteen years in prison. No parole. No early release.

Vince got five years, as part of his plea deal.

We walked out of the courthouse into the sun.

Ethan was waiting with Clara, holding a bouquet of sunflowers he’d picked from our backyard that morning.

He ran over to us, grinning.

“For you,” he said, handing them to me and Mom.

Mom laughed, taking the flowers, and kissed the top of his head.

Officer Hayes was there too, leaning against her car, smiling.

“Congratulations,” she said.

“Thank you,” Mom said, her voice thick with tears. “For everything.”

We went out for dinner that night, to the same ice cream shop we’d gone to after the preliminary hearing. I got chocolate, with extra sprinkles. Ethan got a sundae, with three scoops.

Mom sat across from us, watching us, a big smile on her face.

“We did it,” she said.