It took me a minute to figure out where I was when I woke up. I was comfortable, and that sent a jolt of fear through me, as though the last month had been a dream―like I hadn’t left Lance, and I’d woken up in his apartment. I shot upright, my stomach in knots. Then I remembered where I was.

The huge bedroom, lavish furnishings, the quiet… No, this definitely wasn’t his place. His apartment was cold and debilitating. But I could feel the difference in this house. There was a peacefulness here, a home of warmth and laughter.

I was in the spare bedroom of the Allan and Helen Landon’s house. I tried to not let that freak me out. It was surreal. Actually, I needed a better word than surreal.

Snippets of yesterday ran through my head. Spencer, my world coming down around me, then Andrew bringing me here. Mr Landon gave me food. I got to shower, wash my hair, and brush my teeth. I slept without fear of being robbed, bashed, or worse. The homeless shelters were better than sleeping on the streets, but they were far from perfect.

I didn’t even know how long I’d slept. I had no way of knowing what the time was. I had no watch, no phone. In the shelters, I slept with one eye open and made myself scarce before anyone took too much notice. I kept track of the time, usually by clocks in stores, and it seemed unlikely and something I never even considered, but I had a pretty good idea of what the time was by where the sun was.

There was bright daylight peeking from behind the curtain, and I knew the Landons were probably waiting for me to make an appearance. I used the bathroom, washing my face and brushing my teeth again. I had no choice but to venture out wearing the clothes they’d graciously left out for me.

I felt every bit the charity case I was. Trying to ignore the shame I felt, I didn’t want anyone to think of me as ungrateful. So I folded my clothes and shoved them along with my shoes into my backpack, and with a deep breath, I opened the door. The hall was empty, but I could hear signs of life coming from the kitchen.

It was sad how adept I’d become at listening to what part of the apartment he was in and how to go about not disturbing him. I padded down the hall and was soon following my nose.

Someone was cooking something that smelled divine.

And whistling, and chattering, and humming.

It was the sound of happiness, and I almost didn’t want to disturb them. I could have stood on the other side of the door and listened all day, but an ingrained compulsion to face my fate pushed me forward.

Mr Landon was at the stovetop, whistling to a pan of frying bacon, while Mrs Landon sat at the counter top reading a newspaper. There were coffee cups, plates, a loaf of bread placed haphazardly. Casual, carefree, and completely relaxed. Nothing needed to be immaculate or aligned just so.

It was strange the things I noticed now. I wondered if there would ever be a time when I didn’t notice such things. If there would ever be a time I wouldn’t be so jumpy.

“Ah, good morning!” Mr Landon said, noticing me first. I flinched even though I was expecting him to speak. Mr Landon pretended he didn’t notice.

Mrs Landon looked up, and she glanced at my backpack, how I was holding it like a shield, but still she smiled warmly. “Yanni. Did you sleep okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” I managed. “And thank you for the clothes. I didn’t realize how dirty mine were.”

“We can wash them today,” Mrs Landon said.

“Breakfast first,” Mr Landon said, scraping a pan full of bacon onto a plate of waiting scrambled eggs. “Yanni, do you want coffee? Juice? Water?”

“Um…”

Mrs Landon was quickly on her feet. “You sit down at the table, love. I’ll bring it all over.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” I said, clutching my backpack.

Mrs Landon’s eyes fell to my bag, and when she met my gaze, her face softened. She understands. She’s been where I’ve been. “You’re no bother at all, Yanni.”

I sat at the table and shoved my bag onto my lap and tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. Mr and Mrs Landon moved around the kitchen, bringing plates to the table, followed by cups of coffee and juice, and trays of bacon, eggs, and toast. My mouth watered, but I didn’t dare touch it.

When Mrs Landon put the cutlery down, I instinctively straightened it so it aligned with the plate and the edge of the table perfectly.

It was ingrained in me now. A force of habit.

When I noticed Mr Landon watching me, I slid my hands from the table and sat on them instead. He gave me an awkward smile and started to dish himself up some breakfast, and Mrs Landon did the same. Yet I didn’t move. I would wait my turn.

“Are you hungry?” Mr Landon asked. He took a mouthful of eggs and waited for me to answer.

I opened my mouth to speak but wasn’t sure what to say. I nodded instead.

Mrs Landon’s smile was sad; her voice was quiet and reassuring. “You can eat, Yanni.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, both grateful and ashamed.

I ignored the silent conversation between Mr and Mrs Landon and ate my breakfast. The scrambled eggs were possibly the best I’d ever eaten, the bacon was delicious, the juice fresh, the coffee expensive.

When I couldn’t have fit another bite in, I realized Mr and Mrs Landon were long finished and waiting for me. I silently set my knife and fork at twelve and six the way he had always insisted on and put my hands in my lap. “Thank you.”

“Was it good?” Mr Landon asked.

“Very.” I smiled at his cheerfulness. He was an attractive man, an older version of his son, Andrew. There was a gentleness to him, a kindness, which I found reassuring. Mrs Landon was the same, though she had the grace and confidence of a queen, and it was easy to see why. Because Mr Landon treated her like one. “You’ve both been very kind.”

Mrs Landon drained her coffee. “Yanni, would you mind sitting with me in the living room? I thought we could chat. Is that okay with you?”

Talking about what I’d been through was the very last thing I felt like doing. The thought alone made my breakfast sit like an uneasy lump in my stomach. I swallowed hard. “Yes. Of course.” Then I looked at the table and stood up. My backpack fell to the floor, but I ignored it and stacked the empty cups. “I’ll clean away the breakfast dishes and be right with you.”

She gently put her hand on mine, stopping me. “Sweet boy, you don’t have to do that.”

I quickly took my hand back and stood up straight. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Mr Landon said. He finished stacking the plates. “I’ll take care of these.”

I wanted to object, say that it was certainly not his job to clean up after me, but I didn’t want to speak out of turn.

Mrs Landon stood up and gave me a soft smile. “Would it make you feel better if I said you can help clean up after lunch?”

I half-nodded, half-shrugged. “Yes.”

She laughed quietly and gestured toward the door at the end of the kitchen. “Come with me, Yanni.”

I collected my backpack and followed obediently, giving a final glance at Mr Landon, who was already loading the dishwasher with plates. I sat beside Mrs Landon on the same sofa we’d sat on last night and held my backpack on my lap.

“So I was thinking today we could talk about what you want and what steps you’d like to take,” Mrs Landon said.

I didn’t understand. “What I want?” I shook my head. “I don’t want anything. I don’t expect anything. You’ve already been more generous than I can ever repay.”

She smiled patiently. “You don’t need to repay anything. I was referring to which steps you’d like to take in getting yourself a place to stay, maybe a part-time job so you can continue your studies. Your future, Yanni. What do you want for your future?”

“Oh.” It was a lot to get my head around. “I’ve just been concentrating on getting through each day. I haven’t really thought much about my future.”

Mrs Landon let out a breath and sat back in her seat. “That’s the hardest part, isn’t it? When you’re in a relationship you can’t get out of, like you were, like I was, you don’t just lose your freedom and self-esteem. You lose sense of who you are, your identity. Your dreams, your direction. They take everything away.”

I nodded, but I refused to cry. She understands. She’s been where I’ve been. “Everything.”

She patted my knee. “But this is you taking it back, Yanni. You’re taking back control. This is your life. You make the decisions from here on out, and I know that’s scary right now, and it’s overwhelming. But that’s why I’m here to help. It’s what my Acacia Foundation does. We help you get on your feet.”

“It is scary.”

“It’s frightening as hell,” Mrs Landon said. Then she raised her chin. “But you know what? You are strong enough and brave enough to get through this. I’m not just saying this, Yanni. I’m not reading a spiel from a pamphlet.” She took my hand and squeezed. “You were strong and brave enough to leave him. You did that. And I can tell you why. Because you said ‘no more.’ You said you wanted better because you deserve better. You deserve to not be afraid. To not live in fear.”

I blinked back tears. “I didn’t want to be that person anymore.”

Mrs Landon was teary too. “Because you deserve better.”

It took everything I had, but with a deep breath, I nodded.

She breathed in deeply through her nose and lifted her chin. There was defiance there, a strength. Her eyes told a story, a depth, a history, a fire that burned from a place only a few people knew existed.

“Now,” she continued. Her tone was different, like the second act had begun. “What did you want to do about Lance?”

I recoiled at his name. Words failed me. “N-n-nothing.”

She squeezed my hand. “You said you’d taken out a restraining order. Him engaging Spencer to find you violated that order.”

“A piece of paper was never going to stop him.”

“If you want to report him, I can drive you to the police station.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to, Yanni. I would never pressure you.”

“But you think I should.”

She took another deep breath. “I do.”

“What good will it do? It won’t stop him.”

“Maybe not. But it paints a picture for the police. If you report him, they have his name on record. If he does it again to someone else, they’ll know he has a track record.”

My gaze shot to hers. Does it to someone else?

She nodded and patted my hand. “Just think about it. You don’t need to make any decisions about that right now.”

Speaking of decisions. “I’ll need to call Pol’s and ask if I can defer or withdraw…”

Mrs Landon frowned.

“I can’t go back there,” I said. “If Spencer found me there, then surely he could too.”

“Spencer did say he never told him.”

“I know.”

“But it’s too close?”

I nodded. She understood.

“Then I think we can find you a new school. Through the Foundation, we can find placement housing, but we don’t need to rush that. My point is, once we do find a place for you to live, then we can find a school that’s close.”

Right. My future.

“I know it’s daunting, but it’s exciting too, yes? A new beginning? New life?”

I was still stuck on overwhelmed. “Sure.”

Mrs Landon gave me a pained look. “Yanni, the Foundation also provides resources like therapy and counseling. It’s not compulsory, but I would recommend it. You’ve been through hell, and I think you could benefit from some professional perspective and advice. We can take care of all the physical things, but we shouldn’t forget the mental and psychological.”

I could barely nod, swamped with information and emotion. It was all moving in the right direction, but it was too fast, too soon.

“Okay, that’s enough of the heavy for now,” Mrs Landon said. “How about we get your clothes in the washer. I actually have some clothes put aside for Goodwill. The other week, I cleared out our wardrobes of all the clothes we hadn’t worn in a while. I’m sure we can find you something to wear in the meantime.” Then she brightened considerably. “Oh, and we have a collection of classic film and theater DVDs to rival the BBC’s library. It wouldn’t be a Friday night in the Landon household without a feature presentation.”

I found myself smiling, despite the conflict in my head. It also implied I had somewhere to sleep for the night. “That sounds great.”

She stood up. “Come on. Let’s go sort these clothes out.”

I followed her to the laundry room, where she showed me how to use the washing machine, then she showed me the DVD collection, while she went in search for the bag of clothes for me to look through. She wasn’t joking about their film collection rivaling the BBC’s. There were rows of classics in both film and theater, ranging from Orson Welles and Charlie Chaplin to Errol Flynn and Humphrey Bogart. The theater greats were there as well. So much so, that if the British Theatre ever lost their archives, they could use the Landons’. I adored Shakespeare, but my heart was with the silent movies.

My breath literally caught in my throat when I realized they had Carl Theodor Dreyer's 1928 film The Passion of Joan of Arc. I pulled it out, running my fingers along the cover. It was a masterpiece.

“Ah, when you said you liked the classics, you weren’t joking.” Mr Landon’s voice made me jump. He flinched but was quick to smile. “You have impeccable taste.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, turning the DVD over to look at the back, waiting for my heartbeat to stop hammering. “It’s genius cinematography.”

“So ahead of its time.”

“It really was.”

Mr Landon shook his head with a smile. “You know, as much as we tried to get our kids into the classics, their tastes never quite did gel with ours. I think Andrew’s idea of a classic is Blade Runner.”

I chuckled. “Semantics, I guess.”

He grinned at me. “True. Helen wanted me to tell you the clothes she mentioned earlier are in the front living room.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to leave but stopped. “And bring the DVD. It’ll be our Friday night cinematic spectacular!” He waved his hand dramatically, as though the words were up in lights, before disappearing down the hall, whistling a tune. I couldn’t help but like him. He gave off positive energy, and I remembered reading that other actors he worked with loved having him around for that very reason also.

Though it was a little different for me. I felt safe around him. I felt safe in this house. And that said a lot for me.

I grabbed the DVD of Laurence Olivier’s Hamlet, as well, and ventured back out to the front living room. Mrs Landon was there, pulling folded clothes from a large bag and refolding them, organizing them into a pile on the sofa.

I showed her my selection of films, and she beamed. “Oh, you do have impeccable taste.”

I smiled. “Mr Landon said the same thing.”

“Only someone who appreciates the art of acting would pick those two.”

Her words warmed through my chest with something that felt like pride. I allowed myself a moment to bask in that feeling. Then I noticed the folded shirts and pants. “Oh, that’s a lot of clothes.”

She waved her hand. “Well, I buy clothes for Allan, trying to instill some sense of fashion, but it’s no use. He’s a lost cause.”

“I heard that,” Mr Landon called from somewhere down the hall.

Mrs Landon laughed. “It’s true.” She held up a yellow knitted sweater. “Like this. Paid a small fortune for it, but he won’t wear it. Now I don’t buy him anything.”

“I have more clothes than the men’s department at Bloomingdale’s,” came a reply from down the hall.

Mrs Landon rolled her eyes, and I smiled at her. “It’s a lovely color,” I said, nodding to the sweater.

She handed it to me. “It’s yours. All of these are for the taking. Whatever you don’t want will go to the Foundation or to Goodwill. Someone who’ll appreciate them might as well have them.” Then she pulled out a pink and purple handful of silk. “Oh, this was mine. There’s nothing wrong with it, it just went out of fashion. I really need to stick to buying classic pieces and not get caught up with trends…” She was chattering away and put the silk item off to the side. I couldn’t stop staring at it. It was vibrant and looked incredibly soft. Mrs Landon noticed me staring at it, so she picked it up and offered it to me. “You can have it if you want?”

“Oh, I…” I shook my head. “I’m not into wearing women’s clothes. Not really. And not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just…”

She kept her hand out, still offering the fabric, and gave a daring smile. “Just touch it. It’s glorious.”

I took it and it was like water in my hands. Smooth, cool, luxurious. She was watching me, and there was no point in trying to hide it. My smile gave me away. “It feels incredible.”

“Doesn’t it just?” she said casually, like we weren’t discussing me enjoying the feel of women’s clothes against my skin. “It’s supposed to be a jacket, like a wrap. You could wear it as a robe if you wanted to.”

I held it up and could see the length of the jacket itself would come down to my thighs. The long sleeves were bell shaped, and it was gloriously bright pinks and purples. I could never see myself wearing it out in public, but to wear it in private…

It was foolish to think I’d ever be in a place where I could wear it. I’d never have my own room, let alone privacy, and that stark realization killed any hope that might have started to form. My good mood deflated. I folded it up and handed it back to Mrs Landon. “I don’t really have anywhere I can wear that.”

Mrs Landon took the jacket with a sad smile, though she recovered quickly by grabbing a pair of trousers. She flicked them out and held them up, inspecting them. “I think he wore these once.” Then she stage-whispered with a wink, “Said they were too tight. They might fit you. What size are you? A thirty-two?”

“I’m not sure. I used to be a thirty-four, but my jeans were loose.”

“Give your body time,” she said, like it was just a matter of fact. “You haven’t had the opportunity to eat properly for a while. Add in an incredible amount of stress and hardship, and your body’s taken quite the hit.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that, and Mrs Landon seemed to understand. “Oh, what about this one?” She held up a plain white tee.

We went through the bag and I ended up with half a wardrobe of clothes. Some I wasn’t sure would even fit properly, but any clothes were better than the none I had. We must have sat there for an hour, slowly going through the clothes, but with each garment, Mrs Landon chatted away, making me feel more comfortable―more human―than I’d felt in a long time.

She explained what the Acacia Foundation does on a daily basis, how busy she is, how she loves it. She told me some success stories of people she’d helped, how their stories were similar to mine, and how they’ve made new lives for themselves.

I helped her with lunch and she had me chop peppers, mushrooms, and cucumber for the salad while she told me stories of what a disastrous cook Andrew turned out to be. We talked about our favorite foods and recipes, and it was dreamlike and decidedly normal.

And so very wonderful.

I’d forgotten what normal felt like.

After lunch, I was all too happy to help clean up. It was the least I could do given their generosity, but it also felt good to be productive. As I wiped the sink down when I was done, Mrs Landon stood beside me. “It hasn’t been this clean since it was installed.”

I chuckled, but a rush of pride bloomed in my chest. “Thank you.”

She tilted her head, her brow furrowed. “Everything okay? You were frowning at the sink just now.”

Oh. Was I okay? I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be okay again, but the truth was, even though I’d only been in their house for less than twenty-four hours, I felt more comfortable than I could remember being. Not comfortable in a pleasant-living way, but more comfortable with myself, and even though I was hesitant to use the word confident, I was pretty sure I knew what I should do.

“I think I should tell the police,” I said. “About what he did.”

Mrs Landon’s smile was slow spreading, and her eyes filled with warmth. “I can take you.”

I realized I was wringing the dishcloth, so I quickly folded it neatly and put it down, then wiped my hands on the tea towel, fidgeting and unable to keep still.

“It’s okay to be nervous and scared,” she whispered softly. I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?” I asked.

She put her hand on my arm. “He should be stopped.”

I nodded but felt so unsure. He should be stopped, yes. But I just wasn’t sure I was strong enough to do it.