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That night, Cockerham-Ellerbee cooked dinner at home. She and her children baked a pie; the older ones caught up on homework.

"The tension was gone," she said. For months, "every time we'd hear a branch fall, we were jumpy. It was a mountain of relief that the system does work."

Cockerham-Ellerbee slept deeply that night. She was sure Ellerbee would be out of her life -- and off Jonesville's streets -- for three years. A stack of restraining order violations and a pending assault charge practically guaranteed a judge would find Ellerbee had violated the terms of his probation.

The next morning, Cockerham-Ellerbee and Candice got ready for an appointment with an Army recruiter. Candice went to the library to copy her Social Security card, then came home to wait for her mother to finish running an errand.

When Cockerham-Ellerbee came home 20 minutes later, the front door was cracked open. Candice didn't come when she beeped her horn.

Cockerham-Ellerbee had taken a single step into the foyer when a knife struck her head, its blade breaking off inside. Ellerbee reached for another knife and stabbed her twice more. He then reached for a piece of broken glass from a shelf, shattered in the struggle. He tried to scratch her eyes out and shredded her hands instead as she shielded her eyes. She blacked out as Ellerbee choked her.

Candice's voice jarred her awake. In what Cockerham-Ellerbee now thinks was a dream, she heard her daughter urge her to run.

She hobbled across the field to the police station. Blood warmed her shirt. She heard the wind whistle against her open neck.

Moments later, she collapsed in the police department's lobby.

Ellerbee stopped by a local market to wash off the blood, then headed for New Jersey.

On Nov. 22, as Candice's friends and family leaned over a closed casket to say good-bye, police told Cockerham-Ellerbee they thought they had found her husband.

Ellerbee had doused himself in kerosene and lit a match, police in New Jersey said. Onlookers said he stood perfectly still as he burned to death.

A haunting legacy

Sometimes Cockerham-Ellerbee recognizes her husband in her eldest son Rashieq's jawline and slow, wide smile, and sees the good that survived their relationship.

She and Rashieq find joy in Dominiq, an infant when their lives shattered. Untouched by the memories that haunt his mother, Dominiq dances and laughs with abandon.

She cannot. She can't summon the emotion to scream either. Cockerham-Ellerbee tried to when doctors showed her her lifeless daughter. They had kept Candice's death a secret for three days, afraid if they told her mother, she'd pop the stitches holding her neck together.

Cockerham-Ellerbee is trying to rebuild her life. She moved to Winston-Salem after a bank foreclosed on her Jonesville house. Her hometown became a tough place to be, she said. Cockerham-Ellerbee said she endured harassment from town officials after she filed the lawsuit.

She has had trouble finding work, unable to lift or carry much with her crippled hand. Nightmares jar her awake most nights. She frets about Rashieq, quiet and sullen from damage she can't figure out how to undo.

Two months ago, a friend persuaded her to take off the silk scarf she had worn over her head for five years to veil the scars her husband etched. For eight hours, a beautician worked to comb the knots out of her hair.

Cockerham-Ellerbee cried. It was the freest she had felt in years.

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