Minutes before her father’s scheduled execution, my eight-year-old daughter pulled an old flip phone from her pink backpack and whispered,

The transition back into society was not easy, but for the first time in nearly a decade, we were moving forward instead of holding our breath.

The state of Oklahoma approved a multi-million-dollar compensation settlement for Noah’s wrongful imprisonment. Detective Marcus Vance and his co-conspirators were formally indicted on federal charges of civil rights violations, obstruction of justice, and perjury.

Noah used a portion of his settlement to purchase a quiet three-bedroom house on two acres of land just outside of Broken Arrow. It had an open backyard, mature oak trees, and a porch that faced the sunset.

In the spring, Noah began working with an organization dedicated to helping wrongfully convicted individuals rebuild their lives. He wasn't bitter; he was determined to ensure no other family had to sit in a visitation room counting down the minutes to an execution.

Mia turned nine that April.

We threw her a party in the backyard. The grass was bright green, and the air smelled of sweet clover and charcoal from the grill. Friends from her school came over, along with Renee, who had become a close family friend.

I watched from the kitchen window as Noah pushed Mia on a wooden swing he had built and hung from the large oak tree. Her laughter rang out across the yard, bright and clear.

Noah walked over to the kitchen porch, holding two glasses of lemonade. He handed one to me and leaned against the railing, looking out over the garden.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, placing my hand over his on the wooden rail.

"I’m thinking about time," he said softly, turning to look at me. "When you're in a cell, time feels like an enemy. It just ticks away, taking things from you. But out here... time feels like a gift."