A man who dismantled me piece by piece.
Temporary places that never felt like mine. AirBnBs with enough word art to make my skin crawl. Promises of safety that turned into something else entirely.
Being here feels different. Even though this is Soren’s home through and through, I have hope that things will be better. More stable. A place where I can breathe.
Everywhere else was transitional—temporary. I was hesitant to sign up for anything, to form connections or habits that I’d just have to undo. Finding connection and having to tear those bonds over and over again has left me hollow.
So an exercise class feels like a way to grab onto a tiny piece of stability. It feels like somethingIchose. A routine I can claim as my own.
Somethingnormal.
The studio is just down the road, tucked between a café and a boutique that sells overpriced linen dresses. I’ve walked past it enough times to remember it.
Today, I finally decided to go. I booked the class online—it’s an introductory special where I get to make sure it’s a good match for me.
My body needs it. There’s a tightness that’s been building for months, something that stretching alone hasn’t been able to touch.
Movement helps my nervous system, too. It gives my mind something physical to lock onto instead of the constant low hum that never quite switches off. When I move, everything else quiets.
I pack my bag carefully. Towel. Water bottle. Grippy socks. I change into a workout set of sports bra and leggings that makes me feel put together, pull my hair up in a high pony which I braid and flick to the side, and smooth it down in the mirror. A little lip gloss. A final adjustment.
I feel a jitter of excitement.
This is healthy. Active.
Normal.
“Going somewhere?” Soren’s voice comes from behind me as he passes, heading toward the front door ahead of me.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing back. “I signed up for a Pilates class.”
His gaze flicks over me, assessing.
Before he can respond, there’s a knock at the door.
He doesn’t hesitate. He opens it. “Come in.”
A woman steps inside.
Beautiful in a way that doesn’t try. Everything about her is precise—posture, movement, the way she carries herself like her body is something she fully understands.
“Hi—who’s this?” I ask.
“You must be Ivy!” she says brightly, already moving toward me.
I look at Soren.
He’s smiling.
Not casually.
Like something just worked.
“This is your Pilates instructor.”
My brain stalls. “I—I don’t understand. I already booked a class.”
“Not anymore,” he says. “Change of plans.”