Susan Walters' life has changed drastically since the September 2006 evening she arrived home from work and -- in a desperate fight for her life -- was forced to strangle to death an intruder her husband hired to kill her.

Walters divorced Michael Kuhnhausen Sr., her husband of 17 years.

She bought a new home and installed an alarm system. She laid down gravel around the house, so she hears crunching any time a visitor approaches. Soon, she will put up video cameras.

She’s also devised a “run plan” so she can go into hiding at a moment’s notice. And she has written a will -- all in anticipation of her ex-husband’s planned release from prison in late summer.

Kuhnhausen was sentenced to 10 years in prison as part of a plea deal in which he pleaded guilty to soliciting aggravated murder. Prosecutors said he agreed to pay a crack addict $50,000 to use a hammer to clobber to death his estranged wife, but to make it look like a home burglary gone wrong.

With 20 percent lopped off his prison sentence for good behavior, Kuhnhausen is scheduled to be released Sept. 14.

"It's disturbing that he's getting out, but I know I can't keep him there," said Walters, who is talking about her experience this week in recognition of National Crime Victims' Rights Week and the 30th anniversary of the national Victims of Crime Act.

Michael Kuhnhausen, 2006

Walters wants to raise awareness about the hurdles that crime victims encounter in exercising their rights. Front and center, it’s knowing what they can do, Walters says.

Eight years have gone by far too fast for the 59-year-old who has inspired many with her story of survival.

“I’ve spent the last eight years hoping and praying he doesn’t have any hidden funds anywhere,” Walters said. “I’m hoping he hasn’t found someone in prison who said, ‘You just hired the wrong guy.’”

Walters says nothing is stopping Kuhnhausen from paying a new person to off her. Or hunting her down himself. In 2008, Walters successfully sued Kuhnhausen for $1 million for her emotional distress -- a move she made not because she wanted to take every last cent but because she didn't want him to have enough money to hire a hitman again.

Kuhnhausen, Walters says, has claimed he has terminal prostate cancer. He will be 66 when he’s released, and maybe he’ll be in too poor of health to act on an old grudge, she says.

Or, Walters says, “if indeed he is dying, he’s not got a lot to lose” in trying again to kill her.

Walters has no idea what Kuhnhausen is thinking.

But she feels less anxious with support from a group of experienced criminal-justice professionals who've become her friends. She jokingly calls them her “posse.”

They include a former prosecutor who worked on the case and is now a judge, two managers with Multnomah County's Department of Community Justice, and a lawyer who works at the Oregon Crime Victims Law Center.

Walters has learned that as a crime victim, she has a right to request her ex-husband’s prison file -- something most victims are entitled to. It can contain disciplinary reports, jobs worked and classes taken. It also can include psychological reports, but in Kuhnhausen’s case, it likely doesn’t.

Walters also plans to exercise her rights as a victim by asking the Oregon Board of Parole and Post-Prison Supervision to impose additional conditions on Kuhnhausen while he is on three years of court-mandated post-prison watch.

With the help of Denise Pena, manager of Multnomah County’s 1-year-old

, Walters will ask the board to forbid Kuhnhausen from setting foot in the county where she resides, Multnomah County.

Walters hopes the prison system will release him only to an Oregon county that's an hourslong drive from Portland.

“I wish him peace, and I wish for him to live far away from me,” Walters said.

The sinister plot to kill Walters unfolded when Walters had arrived at her Southeast Portland home after a day’s work as an ER nurse at Providence Portland Medical Center and discovered the surprise of her life -- a stranger, later identified as Edward Dalton Haffey, repeatedly swinging a hammer into her head.

She struggled for the hammer. And she bit him, thinking if she died and police found him, they’d be able to link him to the crime through the marks she left.

After Walters was able to flip Haffey on his stomach and get a choke hold around his neck, she loosened her grip as she asked him who sent him. Instead of answering, he took the opportunity to try to struggle free. She then squeezed to save her life. The entire struggle lasted an estimated 15 minutes.

The encounter made headlines nationwide. Strangers wrote Walters letters. “Dateline” and "Dr. Phil" wanted interviews. Maury Povich sent her flowers. The Portland Police Bureau gave her its Civilian Medal of Heroism, honoring her “sheer determination” to survive.

Walters is still moved to tears when thinking about the horrific fight for her life.

“I was forced to kill another man,” Walters said, her voice breaking up. “Even though he was not a good man, that was the hardest part.”

Walters says she still worries that someone, somewhere will try to hurt her. While driving, she always keeps her windows rolled up and her doors locked.

But she remembers a day when the sun was shining, and she had opened her sunroof.

While waiting at a stop light, she saw a man sprinting toward her car, and she became overcome with anxiety. But within seconds, he’d run past her and onto a bus.

“It’s hard to balance paranoia with hypervigilance,” Walters said.

Walters says that unlike her ex-husband, who will be free in a matter of months, she feels as if she will never be free from the fear that a hitman may confront her when she’s least expecting it.

“I’ve got a life sentence,” she said.

-- Aimee Green