Page 9 of Love From the Ashes

The agreement was pretty standard, listing what you could and couldn’t do while living here, along with the amount of rent and the due date. I signed the document and pushed it across the desk to Rosa.

She looked it over and then grabbed a set of keys from her drawer. “Let’s go upstairs and see your new home. The apartment is directly above my office.”

I was excited, my steps light, as Rosa took me upstairs and led me down the corridor to the end apartment. She unlocked the door and stood back so I could enter the unit first. I walked inside and stopped in the middle of the room, where I slowly turned in a circle to check the place out. An alcove housing a small refrigerator, stove, kitchen sink, and cabinetry was to my left. The bathroom was in the far corner, the open door revealing a toilet, sink, and a combination bathtub and shower. A floor-to-ceiling open bookshelf separated an area in front of the windows from the rest of the room—the space intended to be a makeshift bedroom.

I turned to Rosa, more than happy with my new home. “I love it. Thank you.”

“Then I’ll leave you alone to enjoy it.” Rosa pulled a business card from her pocket and handed it to me. “My apartment is downstairs, attached to the office. If you need anything, my phone number is on the card. Have a good night.”

“Thank you. Good night.” I walked Rosa to the door, closing it after she walked out. Overcome with a feeling of hope, which had eluded me for so long I could barely remember what it felt like, I lay down on the worn carpet and closed my eyes.

It had seemed so out of reach, but I now had my own place. It was the first time I was by myself rather than sharing a room with others or living with someone who surrounded me with disreputable drama, a sordid lifestyle, or bouts of white-knuckled terror, causing me to hide. My childhood and teen years had been deplorable. My life improved after I met and moved in with my husband, Dean, who was fourteen years older than me. It was right after I had turned fifteen. Dean had supplied an escape from what I could only describe as a living hell. Although better, my life with him hadn’t been good, his gambling and drinking addictions destroying any chance we had at happiness. When his behavior progressed to lying and stealing to support his gambling habit, our marriage disintegrated to the point of no return. Dean lost job after job, and we constantly moved, his drinking worsening as he wallowed in self-pity.

It all ended when Dean caught our rental on fire. That was the night he left me with nothing except the clothes on my back and such an overload of emotional baggage that it was doubtful I’d ever crawl out of the hole he had dug for me.

Feeling tears spill, I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball. This apartment was my home, and I wasn’t going to let anyone take it from me.

*

I had gottenup early this morning, too excited to sleep and more than ready to move into my new home. After stuffing the last of my possessions into the gently used piece of luggage Ms. Walker gave me, I looked around the room I had shared with several different women over the last few months. Leaving the shelter opened up a slot for someone else, and I hoped that person found the support and opportunities to get back on her feet as I had. With mixed emotions, I went downstairs to say goodbye, toting everything I owned in the medium-sized hard-shell suitcase.

“I’m proud of you, Sofie,” Ms. Walker said, hugging me goodbye.

I smiled at her. She’d genuinely been my savior. God only knew what would have happened to me without her. “Thank you, Ms. Walker, for everything you’ve done for me.”

“You’re more than welcome, and I want you to remember you earned and deserved it.”

I left the shelter and walked to the bus stop, my body tingly and alive as I reflected on the possibilities ahead. But I was also nervous. I was on a new path and taking a big step. Whichever way it curved and turned, the future had to be far better than the past.

Finally reaching my apartment, I took my suitcase upstairs to unpack. I laughed when I stared at it spread wide open on the floor. With no hangers or furniture, it would be my makeshift dresser for a while. Needing to find a store for the bare necessities, I reached into my purse for the map that Ms. Walker had given me. She’d circled key places and made notes all over it. There was a retail store southwest of me toward the Beacon Hill neighborhood. It didn’t appear to be a terribly long walk, its location on the other side of the interstate.

Setting out on foot, I made it to the store in a little over ten minutes, its location closer than I had thought. I grabbed a cart and filled it with my most pressing needs, a small air mattress and a cheap sheet, blanket, pillow, and pillowcase topping my list. After paying for my items, I stashed them in the folding utility cart I had bought and headed back to the apartment.

Eyeing the donut shop on the corner, I stepped inside, my gaze settling on a chocolate-glazed crème-filled donut. I added the mouthwatering treat to my basket and headed home, satisfied I had what I needed. I hadn’t gone far when a couple came up behind me. Acting like I had a disease, they skirted around me in a wide arc, the woman giving me a look of disgust when I met her gaze.

“That’s nauseating. Now the homeless are hanging out over here. The city better do something about it and put those people somewhere else. Better yet, they need to get off their lazy butts and get a job,” the woman loudly said to her companion.

The man turned and gave me a condescending look before wrinkling his nose as if my presence repulsed him.

I shook my head. The woman’s words and the man’s actions felt like barbs in my skin. Because I wore a faded pair of baggy sweatpants, which were the only pair I owned, and pushed a cart full of bags down the street, the couple automatically labeled me homeless. So what if I was or had been? I was human and had feelings just like they did. Some of us couldn’t help being born into disgustingly degenerate families who sucked the life out of others and did their best to squash our hopes and dreams. Few made it out of that environment unscathed. I was one of the lucky ones and riddled with scars.

Reaching my apartment, I took my cart and remaining shreds of dignity upstairs. It took a while, but I washed the few housewares I had bought, pumped up my mattress, and made up my new bed. I stepped back and surveyed my personal space. In my eyes, it was perfect.

Dinner consisted of a bottle of water and a bowl of chicken noodle soup, which I heated in the small pot I had bought, along with a glass bowl and some silverware. Finished with my gourmet meal, I placed my donut on the napkin spread across my lap and hummed “Happy Birthday” to myself. It didn’t matter that no one knew or noticed that it was my special day. Tonight I was the queen; this was my castle, and the world was mine to conquer.

CHAPTER 5

That’s What Friends Are For

Irushed intothe supply room to photocopy the presentation that Krista had tossed on my desk while informing me she needed ten stapled copies, and her meeting was in fifteen minutes. Her requests always irritated me. She could just as easily send the file to the network printer and program the print job to sort and staple the presentation. But, no, she had to do it the hard way, slapping the original document on my desk and informing me to make copies. I chalked it up to her sadistic pleasure in tormenting me. I’d already prepared the conference room but was running out of time to make the copies. Spinning around to shove the stack of paper in the document feeder, I somehow managed to trip over the step stool that was on the floor behind me. I stumbled backward as the presentation shot from my hand, the papers landing in a mess all over the floor.

“Oh, no,” Della gasped as her hand came up to cover her mouth. She looked at me wide-eyed and shook her head. “Krista sent me in here to check on you. People are arriving for the meeting, and Mr. Morgan is one of the attendees. He’s been out of town for the last two weeks and just got back. Shit, Sofie. You don’t want to screw up in front of him, especially after what you said to him last time.”

“Help me pick this up, then,” I snapped as I scrambled to pick up the papers. I’d already run into Mr. Morgan since our infamous first meeting, although Della was unaware of that fact. I wasn’t about to tell her, either.

Della was on her hands and knees next to me when Krista barged into the room.

“What the hell happened?” she yelled, her face contorting and turning red.

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