BRIDGEPORT, Conn. Cherelle Baldwin was technically free.

It had been nine days since her release from York Correctional Institution, Connecticuts only prison for women. She spent almost three years there, waiting to stand trial for the murder of her ex-boyfriend before being found innocent.

But even though she was back outside, free to go anywhere she wanted, whenever she wanted, Baldwin said she felt trapped. On her first day out of prison, she went to Walmart for an eye exam to get new glasses. She ran into the jury forewoman from her trial. The woman pressed her into a bear hug, and said she deserved to be home. The optometrist got curious and started asking questions.

Later, at the supermarket, strangers approached Baldwin and welcomed her back. She wondered if they were judging her.

"Every time someone looks at me, I think, 'Do they know what happened?'" she said. It makes me very fearful to be around people. I try not to go out in the public."

On May 18, 2013, Baldwin hit her ex-boyfriend Jeffrey Brown with her car , killing him. She told police he broke in, beat and strangled her in front of their 19-month-old son, and that a crash occurred in her driveway while she desperately tried to get away. Brown was pinned against a cement wall and died. Baldwin broke her leg. First responders discovered her on the ground in her nightgown, without shoes or glasses, crying out for her child.

Media coverage of the incident wasn't pretty. The New York Daily News described Baldwin as a crazed woman who crushed her lover to death in a "savage attack." The story didnt mention her telling police that Brown had tried to kill her. Or the slew of threatening texts he had sent her that morning. Or the protective order she had against him. Or that 10 days prior, he had been convicted of breach of the peace for an earlier domestic incident. Or that he was found grasping a belt, which she said he had used to whip and choke her.

"When I first heard my story on the news, I was like, Thats not what happened, she said. They make you sound crazy."

So she stays in, mostly at her moms apartment in Bridgeport. Its a tiny two-bedroom that now houses three adults -- Cherelle, her mom and her brother, Bernard, who just graduated college. They take turns sleeping in the bedrooms, and someone, usually Bernard, takes the couch.

Struggling To Adjust

On a cold Saturday in April, Baldwin sat on that couch in her mom's living room, sipping from a bottle of water. Her son, Jeffrey, wearing an Adidas tracksuit, sat by her side, transfixed by a game he played on an iPhone.

Baldwin said she is grateful for her freedom, but she's also overwhelmed with anxiety.

"My nerves are bad," she said. "I feel like I havent been here in awhile. It feels like a different planet."

She said she can't eat. Nerves. She drinks Ensure for nutrition. Its not too bad, she said, sort of like a milkshake.

Baldwin was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder while in prison. From the accident, but also from surviving a violently abusive relationship. For the first three months after it happened, she said, she had vivid nightmares and would wake up covered in scratches. The prison doctors prescribed her anti-anxiety medicine.

It helped during the day, but when she slept, she relived May 18 -- the day she killed her ex-boyfriend -- over and over. At one point, she was put on suicide watch as she grieved the death of the man she had considered the love of her life, and pined for her toddler son.

She was only 21 when she was charged with murder, a crime that carries a sentence of up to 60 years in Connecticut. Her bail was set at $1 million, even though she hadn't been arrested before and had a young child.

Baldwins mother, Cindy, called it a ransom.

"No one in Bridgeport has that kind of money," she said, shaking her head.

Bridgeport, an old industrial city, is plagued by poverty and crime . It sits just 30 miles north of Greenwich, a town whose $135,258 median household income is more than three times that of Bridgeport's. Her family openly wonders if Baldwin would have been charged with murder if she lived in Greenwich or Stamford, or if she was white and wealthy. "Not a chance," her mother said.

Baldwin's first trial, held in 2015, ended in a hung jury . So she had to spend another year behind bars waiting for her day in court.

During the trial in March, Baldwin shook uncontrollably, an involuntary jerking that was visible from the gallery seats. She testified that Brown had stalked her, beat her, choked her and made her life a living hell over the course of their relationship. The jury deliberated for two days.

When the jury forewoman began to read the verdict, Baldwin collapsed to the floor . Murder; not guilty. Intentional manslaughter; not guilty. Reckless manslaughter; not guilty. Manslaughter in the second degree; not guilty. Criminal negligent homicide; not guilty.

My baby, my baby will have his mommy back, she moaned.

A court marshall passed a box of tissues to the jury.

Less than an hour later, Baldwin was released.