She showed up at my door at 3 a.m. with a suitcase and a bruise. I didn't ask questions.
A knock in the dark. A woman with everything she owns. A man who opened the door and closed every question.
The knock came at 3:17 a.m.
I checked the peephole.
She was standing in the hallway.
Suitcase in one hand. Keys in the other.
A bruise on her jaw she was trying to cover with her hair.
I opened the door.
She didn't say anything.
I didn't ask.
I took the suitcase from her hand.
Set it inside the door.
Led her to the couch.
Got a blanket. A glass of water. A pillow.
She sat with her hands in her lap.
Shaking.
I sat on the floor across from her.
Close enough to reach. Far enough to breathe.
She said I didn't know where else to go.
I said you're here. That's enough.
She cried without making a sound.
I stayed on the floor until her breathing changed.
She fell asleep on my couch at 4 a.m. and I sat in the dark guarding a door she'd never have to run through again.