Page 30 of Blades Out
A second message followed immediately.
Tonight, if possible.
The laptop slid off my knees. I barely caught it before it hit the floor.
Marsha never texted like that. Never used words like "important" or "tonight if possible" unless something had gone catastrophically wrong. She knew better than anyone how those phrases landed on people like me—sharp and cold, instant panic triggers we couldn't control.
Which meant whatever this was, it couldn't wait for her usual careful approach.
No.
I stared at the messages until the screen blurred.
Not now. Not when I'm finally?—
My hands shook. I set the phone facedown on the couch and pressed both palms against my thighs, trying to breathe through the tightness crushing my ribs.
Marsha had been there when they pulled me out. Had sat beside me in hospital waiting rooms and court hearings, and foster placements that never stuck. Had advocated when caseworkers cycled through and forgot my name. Had believed me when no one else did.
If she needed to see me tonight, something bad had surfaced. Something from before. Something I thought I'd finally escaped.
One week. I'd made it one week believing I could start over.
The apartment felt smaller suddenly. Walls pressing closer. Shadows deepening in corners I'd convinced myself were safe.
I picked up my phone again.
Sure.
I typed up my address and hit send before fear could stop me.
The knock came forty-three minutes later.
I knew because I'd watched every second tick past on my phone, counting breaths, trying to convince my pulse to slow down.
I opened the door.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Marsha stood in the hallway with that same warm smile I'd known since I was eight—soft around the edges, carrying weight that never quite showed on her face. Gray streaked through dark hair she kept pulled back in a practical bun. Laugh lines framed brown eyes that had seen too much, but somehow stayed kind.
Relief crashed through my chest.
"Hi."
She pulled me into a hug before I finished the word. Solid, grounding, the kind that said you're safe without needing to speak it aloud. I melted into her shoulder for three heartbeats before remembering to breathe.
"Look at you," Marsha murmured, pulling back to study my face. "You look good, Liv. Really good."
Heat crept up my neck. "I'm trying."
"You're succeeding." She stepped inside, gaze sweeping the small space with the practiced assessment of someone who'd walked through hundreds of living situations and knew what mattered. "This is yours?"
"Yeah." Pride crept into my voice despite everything. "All mine."
"It's perfect." Marsha moved toward the kitchen nook, fingers trailing along the secondhand table I'd scrubbed three times before bringing home. "Small but safe. Organized. You did this yourself?"
I nodded.
