Page 14 of Her Older Protector

“I’m trying to decide if I’m done,” she says thoughtfully as she tucks a chunk of dark hair behind one of her ears. “I wanted to paint my feelings, and it’s not always easy to figure out how it’s supposed to go. It all just kind of comes out of the brush, you know?”

I nod. “I know how that goes.”

Emma is seventeen, about to age out of the foster system, and the oldest of a small group of art students I mentor for my art education degree program. She’s the oldest, and the one I worry about the most because soon she’ll have to leave the support and resources behind.

I know what it’s like to just worry about survival every day. It’s draining. A thief of joy, as my therapist puts it.

Domestic violence isn’t a simple issue. It nearly destroyed me, and maybe it would have, if Jake hadn’t given me the hand I needed to pull myself out. Maybe I would have run out of places to hide and gone back to Patrick again. But Jake would say that I don’t give myself enough credit—that I would have saved myself eventually.

That’s how much he believes in me.

I finish up the art class, pack up my supplies and head outside, where Jake waits for me outside of his car. He looks heartbreakingly handsome in his bomber jacket and aviator shades, dark hair shining in the evening light. We’re headed to wine and painting night to meet some friends.

Friends. I madefriends.

And then after wine and painting, we’ll go back home, to the house that we share—a new place, bigger, with things we picked out together. He didn’t like all of the furniture that I picked, but I overruled him. Just because I could. Because I liked the way he shrugged and said, “Whatever you want, baby.”

With a wide smile, I walk up to Jake, and he pulls me into his arms and drops a sweet kiss on my lips.

Fear is an essential part of survival, and when we live in fear all the time, it does strange things to our minds and bodies, changes us in ways that we can’t live with forever. It takes time, love and care to get back to a healthy place, and not everyone is blessed with the help and resources I received.

I’m not afraid anymore.

I’mstrong.

And as Jake reminds me every day, when we argue and make up, when he tells me he loves me, when I choose to do things alone and when we choose to do things together, as a couple—I’m not alone.