Follow your heart, not your head. But make sure you know which is which.
I frown slightly into my coffee, unsettled in a way I can’t quite pin down.
That morning, after my coffee, I head down to a mindfulness meditation session. I’m a little early, so I figure I can stretch while I wait for the teacher to arrive.
When I walk in, I realize I’m not the only one who’s early.
Amanda’s here. She jerks around at the sound of the door, then relaxes when she sees it’s just me.
“Sorry,” I say with a small smile. “I don’t bite, I promise.”
She nods and offers a weak smile in return. Honestly, while I was suspicious of her relationship with Reid at first, I can’t help but feel for her. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, like she hasn’t slept properly in days.
I wonder if they have someone here that she can actually talk to. Someone qualified.
Then again, this place probably leans more toward the mystical than the practical. Frankly, whatever they’re doing for her doesn’t seem to be helping much.
Everything about her—from the way she scans the room to how tightly she clings to Reid—feels… tense. Like she’s braced for something that hasn’t happened yet.
Despite the designer clothes she wears, anyone paying attention can see she hasn’t had an easy life.
It doesn’t even feel like her choice to wear those things. Even though Key thought she was showing off, I don’t buy it.
If anything, it feels like she wears them because she has to.
Because someone expects her to.
I heard enough of Luke’s conversation with the cops to piece together a rough picture.
Amanda’s on the run from a powerful man. Her husband. Probably abusive—if not physically, then in other ways that leave deeper marks.
Even if she’s escaped him physically, she’s still carrying him with her. Still stuck in that same fear, that same helplessness, and it’s going to take time to shake that.
I know what that feels like.
“Do they have self-defense classes here?” I ask, sliding my cushion next to hers after a second thought.
“Huh?”
“Just something I was thinking about.” I sit down. “It would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“I guess.” She shrugs.
The conversation starts to fade, and I don’t want it to, so I push a little.
“Hey, I don’t mean to pry, but I was here when the cops showed up, and I heard most of what was said.”
She turns to me sharply, alarm flashing across her face.
“Don’t worry,” I say quickly. “I won’t bring it up if you don’t want me to. But if you ever need help—anything at all—you can call me. I’ll give you my number and address. No questions asked.” I pause. “Okay, maybe a few questions. I’m a bit nosy.”
She just blinks at me for a few seconds, clearly caught off guard. I start to wonder if I’ve overstepped.
Then she gives me a sad smile. “Honestly, I’m not sure anyone can help me. I just…” She trails off, looking down at her hands as she twists them together. “I’ve made so many mistakes. I don’t even know if I deserve help anymore.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say. “You don’t deserve anything that’s happened to you. No matter what he’s told you. No matter what you think you’ve done.” I take a breath. “People do crazy things when they’re pushed into a corner. No one gets to judge you for what you did to survive.”
She keeps her gaze down, but a tear slips down her cheek as she exhales.