Jake nods once, already pulling out his phone.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, his voice steady. “She came here because she trusted you. We’re not letting her fall through the cracks.”
We.
I don’t know when we became a realwe.
But standing here in the kitchen, my sister safe upstairs, it hits me all at once.
My husband is already mobilizing his entire world to help me.
How could I not love him?
***
Early the next morning; we’re all in the car.
Katia sits quietly in the backseat, staring out the window while Jake drives. The sky is overcast, a soft gray that makes everything feel muted.
I twist in my seat every few minutes to check on her, even though she hasn’t said more than three words since we left the house.
“You okay?” I ask gently.
She nods once.
Her fingers are knotted together in her lap.
The facility isn’t far outside the city. Private. Quiet. The kind of place you’d miss if you didn’t know it was there.
Jake made two calls last night. Two.
This morning, we have an intake appointment.
I still don’t know who he called or what strings he pulled. I only know that when he says he’ll handle something, he does.
When we park, Katia sits there for a second, staring at the building through the windshield.
“Well,” she says, forcing a small smile. “Five stars on Google would’ve been nice.”
My heart squeezes.
“I’m really proud of you,” I tell her, because I need her to hear it.
She glances at me. “Thanks, Tal.”
Jake steps out first, circling the car without hesitation. He opens Katia’s door and offers her his hand.
Katia looks at it, then up at him.
“Well,” she says lightly, “if you’re going to be this polite, I guess I have to accept.”
She takes his hand.
He helps her out, calm and solid.
Inside, the place smells like disinfectant and fresh paint.
A woman with kind eyes greets us at the front desk. There’s paperwork. Questions. Forms.
