Page 163 of Love Bleeds Red
As someone who also loves to bake as a form of therapy, learning this bit of news has me almost tearing up.
She leads us down a hallway. It’s hard to tell but somewhere inside I can remember it being dark and oppressive. But now it’s bright and airy, lined with paintings and sketches done by residents. Each one has a placard below.
Heather, 2025. Marie, 2025. Hope, 2025.
I let my eyes linger on each one. They tell a story… some dark and painful, others bright with newfound joy. All of them from the heart.
“This used to be the formal dining room,” Ada says, gesturing to an open doorway where I can see people of different ages working at sewing machines. “Now it’s our textile arts studio.”
I peer in and watch two women about my age cutting fabric patterns. They’re chatting quietly and easily, not a hint of pain on their faces. One of them looks up and waves at Ada with genuine affection.
“The kitchen’s just ahead,” Ada says. “Ready to meet everyone?”
I can hear voices getting louder, people talking over each other, laughing, completely comfortable. The sound of people who feel safe.
Leon and I share a smile. “Ready.”
After being stuffed with fresh bread and treats, Leon tells me he has a surprise to show me. We excuse ourselves from Ada and her class, and I follow Leon through more renovated hallways until we reach a door. My pulse speeds up as I wait for him to open it. Is it leading downstairs, back to those cells, where so much pain and death occurred?
But as he opens it, my eyes widen. It’s not leading downstairs, but instead to a huge gym. Equipment lines the mirrored walls—every kind imaginable. “This is great,” I say. “I’m sure they love it.”
“A lot of the machines are new additions. This wing was added recently.” He takes my hand and leads me through the space toward another entryway. This one is wider than the first. Murmured voices make their way through the closed door. “Here’s what I’m extra proud of.”
He opens it and I’m looking into a room specifically set up for self-defense classes. Mats cover most of the floor, and punching bags hang from reinforced ceiling mounts. But what catches my attention are the three women in workout gear leading a small group of five residents through what looks like basic defensive moves. I recognize some of the moves from my lessons with Leon.
The shortest of the instructors has brown curly hair and freckles scattered across her face. She’s demonstrating how to break free from a wrist grab in simple to understand directions. “Remember, you want to twist toward the thumb. That’s the weakest point.”
The second instructor is taller and blonde, and even from here I can tell she’s got personality. She’s got her hands on herhips, grinning as she corrects one of the students’ stances. “No, no, honey. You’re not asking him out on a date. You’re trying to break his nose. Put some power into it.”
The third woman catches my eye immediately. She’s athletically built with short brown hair and something almost maternal in her expression as she kneels beside a younger nervous looking resident. “It’s okay,” she’s saying softly. “We’ll go slow. Just remember you’re in control here.”
“They’re visiting instructors from a gym in Florida. They started up a program there that specializes in teaching self-defense to trauma survivors.” Leon’s expression is full of pride. “We met them briefly when we were searching for you.”
“They helped you find me?”
He smiles as the curly haired one spots us and waves. “You could say that.”
I watch the light-haired one demo a knee strike on the curly-haired one. I can’t make out what they’re saying to each other but I definitely heard a loud “oof” escape her lips.
“I love this so much,” I whisper, feeling myself getting choked up.
“I thought you’d like it,” Leon says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “They’re here all week, so maybe you can get a few sessions in with them?”
One of the residents, a middle-aged woman, successfully gets herself out of a wrist grab and all three instructors cheer like she just won an Olympic medal. The pride on the resident’s face is a beautiful thing.
“Can we watch for a bit?” I ask.
Leon nods, and we settle quietly against the back wall as the class continues. I’m feeling so many emotions watching these women reclaim their strength and learning they have the right and ability to protect themselves. I know ever since I startedtraining, the confidence I’ve built is something I never would have imagined.
The blonde instructor spots us and grins our way before focusing back on her students. “Alright ladies, one more round, and this time I want to hear those badass voices. Shout NO like you mean it.”
The room fills with their voices, some stronger than others, but all of them trying. All of them powerful.
It’s beautiful and heartbreaking and hopeful all at once.
Leon
After Bailey and I toured the rest of the space, I was ushered away with some donors and staff into back to back meetings. Thankfully, Mum was happy to stay with Bailey and keep her occupied.
