Refuge

The tea tasted like it had been reheated three times and forgotten twice. Not unpleasant. Just tired.

I held the cup anyway. It gave my hands something to do, and there was something calming about having something warm in your palms. People don’t ask too many questions when you act like you belong.

Holding something also makes you look settled. Even when your heart's somewhere under the floorboards and you’re trying not to hyperventilate.

A woman in a blazer with glasses stepped into the waiting room. “Ms. Brooks? Judge Everly will see you now.”

I smiled at her. “Thank you.”

I always say thank you, even when I’m scared. Maybe especially then.

Bianca had offered to come. I told her not to. Said it was just a formality. Said I was fine. She didn’t believe me, but she let me go alone. That’s the thing about women you think are strong—you believe them when they lie well enough.

The carpet in the hallway was the kind that whispered when you walked. Soft, beige, unmemorable. The walls were lined with sepia portraits of men in dark suits who smiled like they’d never been late picking up a kid from school or forgotten to pack an extra snack. I wondered if any of them had ever had to ask the principal to hold a child’s hand until someone could get there.