When my mom decided to leave the toxic relationship she had been in for almost two decades, it was the dead of winter. She had to snowshoe in the mile from the road to the cabin my dad had built while carrying her toddler son. We had to pump water from the well and then boil and strain it before using it to cook with or consume. There was electricity but no heat, and we quickly diminished the several cords of wood as the endless Maine winter roiled around the large barn style cabin. I remember hearing her crying long into the early morning hours.