With Chloe sound asleep, I finally have a few minutes to tidy up from the day. I take in the living room, amazed at the almost tornado-like force a child her age has on a house. As I scan the room’s surfaces, I can’t seem to find a single one that doesn’t have some traces of my daughter’s day on it. Whether it’s the paintings she worked on and proudly displayed on the coffee table for me, or the tiny My Little Pony accessories leaving a dangerous trail for me to walk on, or the fact that the TV remote is sandwiched between some of her favorite books.

And this is just one room. It’s impossible to keep the house in any kind of order when she’s here. Mom told me it gets easier when kids go to school, so maybe next year I’ll have some kind of hope of keeping things clean.

But I’m not going to hold my breath.

Sighing, I pick up the pillows from the floor and brush them off, placing them back on the couch. Gathering up the one piece of evidence that I actually live in this house, my coffee cup, I walk out to the kitchen and place it down in the sink. Without any distractions, my thoughts travel back to Ella. I stare out my kitchen window, out into the early darkness that keeps blanketing the earth a little bit earlier every night, wondering if she’s okay.

Without meaning to, I’ve found myself driving past that house every day now. However, I haven’t seen any sign of Ella even being there. I’m not sure what her job is for those dicks, but whatever it is, it’s not outside. The thing is, if I had any indication that she wanted my help, I’d kick in that door in a heartbeat and carry her out to my car. However, as I close my eyes, all I can hear is her forceful scream to go away.

My heart tells me I’m making a mistake by listening to her, but logic keeps me driving past the house. The last thing I need is someone calling the cops on me, or even worse, some kind of restraining order put out against me. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that she needs me.

Lights shine in through my window, blinding me temporarily as they pull up my driveway. Who is coming here at this time? Not that it’s really that late. It’s actually only a little after eight. It just always feels late when your kid is finally asleep and you worry that any little noise might wake them up.

From the light on the top of the car, I can see it’s a taxi that’s pulled up in. So that rules out my mother. She has no reason to come over anyway, but if she did decide to stop by, it wouldn’t be in a cab. I walk over to the door, preparing to send whoever mistook this address as their destination away when my mouth goes slack and I fling the door wide-open instead.

“Ella!”

She fidgets uncomfortably and then looks over her shoulder at the cab, still not backing out of my driveway. “Hi.” Her face is contorted in pain. “I’m so sorry to do this. But, Jackson, I had to come see you. I owed you an explanation,” she starts to ramble.

“All right then, come in.” I step out of the way, clearing a path for her to come into the house.

“The thing is, I had to take a taxi to get here, but I don’t have the money to pay for it. I hate that I have to ask, but could you pay him?” Her eyebrows shoot skyward as she plays nervously with her ring.

Seriously?

She comes to my house, spends the night, spazzes out about getting back to her job, screams at me to leave, and then drives to my house a few days later without cab fare? I honestly can’t figure this girl out.

“Fine.” I walk past her and over to the driver’s side window, tapping on the glass. The cabbie lowers it down. “How much do I owe you?” I tug out my wallet from my back pocket.

“Twenty-five,” he answers flatly.

“Nope, there’s no way, man. I know how far you drove to get here. If you were purposely taking some long route, that’s on you. Now what do I really owe you?” I jut out my jaw as he sizes me up.

“Fine, it’s ten bucks.” He holds out his hand and I slap a bill against it. The cabbie drives away and I join Ella on my step, opening the door for us.

“Okay, you said you want to talk. Come in and talk.”

I close the door behind us and head to the living room, not bothering to check if she’s following me or not. Plopping down on the sofa, I stare at her expectantly, still pretty annoyed by all this bullshit. “Are you going to sit down and tell me what all this is about?” I nod to the seat beside me.

Ella sits on the cushion gingerly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to take a seat. What on earth is going on in her life?

“Jackson, I’ve never told anyone this before,” she begins and I can hear the strain in her voice as she struggles to find the right words.

“Okay, well, take your time then.” I find my anger dissolving into concern. It’s impossible not to worry about her. She looks so fragile and scared. Whatever is going on with her, it’s probably a big deal.

“I’m sorry I told you to go away.” She rubs her hands over her jeans, avoiding my eyes. “I didn’t know what to do. When I came to this country, I was fifteen. My entire family was killed in Colombia,” she starts to explain.

“Holy shit,” I breathe out the words.

Ella nods, blinking back tears. “Yes. But, before he was murdered, my father sent me over here with some smugglers. They bring people over the border and sell them. Dad had arranged for a woman over here to take me in. To give me protection and a better life. My boss, Sylvia, she did that for me. And part of me feels like I should be eternally grateful to her for doing that for me,” she explains.

I bite my tongue. From what I saw, Sylvia doesn’t treat her with any human dignity at all. I understand that Ella is grateful, but there’s a line.

“Okay.” I try not to let my opinion overshadow what she’s telling me.

“Sylvia, she’s not always easy to work for. She doesn’t pay me,” Ella confesses.

“Whoa, what? So, you’re like a slave or something?”

“No, well, yes I suppose I am. Sometimes I feel more like her prisoner. Because she knows she has a huge advantage over me, so I need to live by her rules and do the work she wants me to do,” she continues, her voice wavering.

“Why? Why can’t you leave, Ella?” I move in closer to her and put my arm around her shivering shoulders.

“Because I’m not really allowed to be here,” she whispers to her hands.

“What do you mean? You said you came here when you were a teenager. What’s the problem?” I hold her against me and run my hand over her hair.

“I’m not legally allowed to be here,” she stresses the word. “I’m an illegal immigrant. And if I try to leave Sylvia, I have nowhere to go. I could get deported back to Colombia.” She sinks into me as the heavy burden is lifted from her soul.

“Oh, Ella.” I hold her tight. “I won’t let that happen.” I try to figure out how I can fix this for her. I need to help her. To give her a life she deserves instead of this endless indentured servitude.

“What if we could find a way for you to be here legally, you know, like on a visa?” I sit up straighter as a lightning bolt of brilliance strikes me.

“That would be amazing.” Her warm brown eyes overflow with hope. “But how could I do that?”

“We can do that.” I brush her hair off her face. “I’m sure there must be something we can do.” I let her go and jump over to my computer. “Let me check.”

A quick Google search tells me there aren’t any easy solutions. In fact, most of the regulations say exactly what she’s already said. She’ll be deported. However, I can’t let her go back to that woman. I can’t let her live like that.

“It looks like it’s kinda complicated,” I admit. “But listen, I want you to stay here, with me. Don’t go back to that monster. I will protect you here. I will keep you safe.”