I can’t touch a bite of dinner, which is a good thing because I’m sure if I ate whatever gray slop is on my plate, I’d feel sick tomorrow. By eight, I’m growing worried that Stuart can’t come up with the money, and that I’ll be spending tonight in a cell. In the morning, I’ll be on the first bus out to Rikers.

But at ten, I’m told to collect my belongings.

As soon as I cross the threshold into freedom, Stuart embraces me tightly. Into my ear, he whispers, “I love you.”

I’m back home a little over an hour later. Our babysitter, Livie, says Jacob fell asleep without any fuss. She doesn’t ask anything about my circumstances, even though it’s obvious to me that she knows. Probably more than I do, in fact, because I haven’t been online yet. I’m not certain if the source of Livie’s knowledge is Stuart or the Internet, however.

After Livie leaves, Stuart and I sit across from each other in our kitchen. Stuart has made me tea, and I am enjoying the warmth of the cup as much as the mint flavor, all the while attempting to come to terms with the fact that I am now an accused murderer.

“I didn’t tell Jacob anything,” Stuart says. “But the reporters were already outside our house when he came home from school. I told him that it was about a big case you were involved in, and he seemed to be okay with that.”

Those same reporters had been lying in wait upon our return. It was a terrifying experience for me, a hardened prosecutor. I shut my eyes and try to shake away the nightmare that awaits my five-year-old son. No matter how hard Stuart and I try to shield him, my son’s blissful ignorance will not be a permanent state. Soon enough, he’ll be able to navigate the Internet. He also has friends whose parents talk about scandalous topics in front of their five-year-olds.

“We’ll have to tell him something soon,” I say. “Before he hears it elsewhere.”

“Maybe it’ll be best for him if he’s not in the city when all of this happens,” Stuart says. “I don’t know . . . He can go stay with my parents, or your sister.”

“No.”

The force of my declaration seems to surprise Stuart. If anything, I wish I’d said it louder. There’s no way in hell I’m giving up what may well be the last months I’ll have with my son. He is the flesh-and-blood reminder of why my freedom—indeed, my life—still matters to me. I need to keep him close, or I’m certain I won’t survive.