Chapter 29: Another Door

It didn't feel like safety.Not yet.But it didn't feel like danger, either.

This is it. First step to a whole new life.

Liana

Alex's apartment was smaller than Elias's house.

Brighter.

A little messier.

It smelled like coffee and vanilla lotion.

Alex said, "Bathroom's down the hall. Your room's on the left. I cleared the closet, but I left a few hangers. Hope that's okay."

I nodded.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen her.

We'd met a few times—barbecues, movie nights, once when Elias sprained his wrist and she came over to yell at him.

She was tall. Loud. 

The kind of woman who didn't ask for permission to speak.

But right now, she was giving me space.

She didn't try to hug me. 

Didn't comment on how small my suitcase was.

Just handed me a glass of water and said, "You don't have to unpack tonight. Or talk. I'll be in the living room."

Then she left me alone.

My room was small. 

A full-sized bed. A desk. One window with blinds that clicked when I touched them.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

I'd only brought the essentials: clothes, my laptop, the necklace.

Not the blanket from my chair. Not the photo from the fridge.

Not the mug Elias bought me last winter that said "Let Me Overthink About It."

This wasn't home.

Not yet.

But it was a beginning.

I lay down and stared at the ceiling.

I could hear the music from Alex's room. Not loud.

No familiar footsteps outside the door.

No soft clink of Elias cleaning the kitchen when he couldn't sleep.

Instead, all the new sounds.

And somewhere beyond that, laughter from the living room. 

Alex on the phone with someone. 

A show playing in the background.

Life.

I didn't cry.

But my throat tightened.

Not because I missed him.

Not just that.

But because being alone, truly alone, meant I had no excuse now.

If I failed—if I froze in class, or panicked on the bus, or forgot a lesson plan while tutoring—

It was all on me.

That should've been terrifying.

And it was.

But under the fear, something else stirred.

Something thin and warm and fragile.

Hope.

A whisper that maybe, this time, I could learn how to stand on my own feet.

Without running back.

Without needing to be rescued.

I reached for my phone.

No missed calls.

No texts.

That was good.

That was the point.

Still—

I typed a message.

Then deleted it.

Then typed it again.

Then deleted it.

I stared at it.

Nothing happened.

I turned off the lamp.

Pulled the blanket to my chest.

But sleep didn't come.

The room was too quiet in the wrong ways.

The air conditioner clicked every now and then.

A pipe in the wall groaned.

The fridge made a sound like something alive.

Each one made me flinch.

I knew it was nothing.

But my body didn't.

It waited.

For footsteps.

For a door slamming.

For a shout that wasn't coming.

I sat up.

Turned on the light.

Looked around again—dresser, desk, blank walls.

This was fine. This was safe.

I repeated that in my head.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

I got out of bed and checked the door—twice.

Then curled up again under the blanket.

Not because I thought Alex would hurt me.

Not even close.

But because being in a new place still meant being alert.

Because my brain hadn't learned yet that not all change was danger.

And that was okay.

I would teach it.

Eventually.

This was my first night somewhere else.

Somewhere mine.

And for now—

That was enough.