My heart sinks as I show her the message I sent to Tony the second Daniel left.
Gianna: Did Daniel lend you half a million dollars for your business?
Tony: Yes. Why?
Anna curses and I chuck my phone on the couch, swallowing down my irritation at being kept in the dark about the transaction. That old, familiar feeling that the tapestry of my life is once again being weaved by the key players around me overshadows my thoughts, trying to suffocate me. I tip my head back against the couch, a migraine forming behind my eyes.
“You can’t go back to that fucking bastard. There has to be another way.”
“I’m all ears.”
We sit in silence for a few moments, both pondering how I can dig myself out of this shitty situation, when my phone vibrates on the cushion between us.
“It’s Zayn.”
We both watch as it rings out, stops for a moment, then rings again. He calls ten times before a text message comes through.
Zayn: Where are you?
“I can’t tell him where I am because he’ll come here.”
My heart rattles against my ribcage at the thought of him searching for me. Turning up here. I don’t know what to tell him. Don’t know how to turn him away without telling him why.
When I don’t respond, he sends another text.
Zayn: Fine. Just let me know that you’re safe.
Gianna: I’m safe.
I’ve beenat Anna’s for three days.
I haven’t answered any of Zayn’s calls. I’ve swapped all my shifts at work so Zayn doesn’t know when I’ll be there.I’ve been on edge all day today at Hope House but thankfully, Zayn hasn’t shown up.
He’s probably figured out where I’m staying but is giving me my space. I’ve thrown myself into my studies and am trying to forget that my life, which I thought I finally had together, is crumbling down around me.
I think about Zayn constantly.
I finish planning the Hope House fundraiser, which is taking place next Saturday night. Confirming vendors, donors and attendees for the gala has kept me busy, and there’s a contagious buzz around Hope House between Sam and the counsellors at the money that has already started trickling in.
Last night,I reached out to a social media influencer that used to date one of Daniel’s teammates, who I bonded with over a wardrobe malfunction in a women’s restroom at the Brownlow Medal award night. She was enthusiastic about supporting Hope House and posted our donation website to her social media platforms, raising a staggering ten thousand dollars from her followers in under twenty-four hours.
When Sam is alerted to the funds in the Hope House account, he picks me up in a bear hug and swings me around the cottage, much to the amusement of everyone there. None more than little Hudson and Hattie who squeal with joy when Sam has fifteen ice-cream sundaes delivered from McDonalds to celebrate.
“You could have splurged on Baskin and Robbins.” I nudge him with my knee while I wolf down my hot fudge with a flake. We all sit around the living room, some of thegirls are wedged into the limited couch space and some, like Sam and I, are spread out on the floor. There’re smiles and laughter and light-hearted banter bouncing off the walls, a rare moment of bliss blanketed over the house.
He gives me the most ‘Sam’ look I’ve ever seen and points at me with his plastic spoon.
“Gianna, that money needs to be used wisely. We need new beds, better security on the windows, an upgrade on the hot water system, not to mention-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I chuckle, cutting off his lecture before it can take flight. “I’m joking.”
He lowers his own sundae, his expression turning earnest. “You’ve done well, Gianna. We were already lucky to have you. Now you’ve really gone above and beyond.”
I glance around the room and my heart swells at the sight of the women we’re helping here. The ones who aren’t lucky enough to have family or friends to fall back on, but who become family inside these four walls.
“Funny that. I feel like the lucky one.”
He pats me on the knee and we finish our sundaes while discussing the final arrangements for next weekend.
