Matched to the Alien Prince: A Case Study from the Best Life Interstellar Matchmaking Agency

Book 1: Matched to the Alien

by Danielle Forrest

Genres: Science Fiction Romance; alien romance

Synopsis

Can he help her heal, or will he break her trust for good?

For Justine, leaving her abusive ex was the hardest thing she's ever done in her life. It meant leaving with nothing but the clothes on her back, but it was worth it. She could have a fresh start and maybe even rediscover the woman she'd been before she met him.

Then, like some horror movie villain, he chases her down, robbing her of that sanctuary she'd just found and leaving her struggling for sanity once more.

In a moment driven by panic, she realizes she'll never be safe anywhere he can reach her. Her only option? Leave Earth.

But after the panic recedes, and she's on her way to a new world and her new "perfect" alien match, she can't help fearing she's made a grave mistake. It's only when she meets Zayvan that she finally starts laying those fears to rest. He's sweet and kind and considerate, and she's actually starting to think that this can work after all.

That is, until the day men rush into their cabin in full tactical gear, shattering their happiness and causing her to question if she even knows Zayvan at all…

Matched to the Alien Prince is Book 1 in the Matched to the Alien series, which pairs humans and aliens using an interstellar matchmaking agency. It can be read as a standalone. This Slow Burn Alien Romance features a human woman escaping an abusive relationship, an alien prince trying to escape a family history of marriages in name only, and a kidnapping plot that could ruin their chances of happiness forever.

 

Read more

Release date: February 15, 2023

Publisher: The Eternal Scribe Publishing

Print pages: 303

Sample

Chapter 1

Something about that first step was absolutely terrifying.

Justine stood on the threshold of her home, staring out at the suburban community beyond. It felt so quiet, so peaceful. It was weird, like coming home after a long vacation and your space just felt off, like you were entering somewhere new rather than somewhere you’d been countless times before.

Continuing to move forward, she scanned the street, flinching as a car drove by. Her heart pounded, and the instinctual urge to run back inside hit her. She resisted, but still tensed, her leg twinging as the movement put undo strain on an injury that had only recently been freed from a walking boot.

When she reached the sidewalk, it felt like a monumental accomplishment. She hadn’t been this far from her home on her own in months, not since her injury. She looked over at the empty driveway. The cement was cracked in one spot where the harsh winter had proven too much for it. It, too, felt odd, like it was wrong that there wasn’t a car in the drive.

What if he comes home?

What if he sees me walking down the street?

What will he say?

What will he do?

Every panicked thought sent her heart racing, creating threats where there were none.

It’s only a few miles. That’s nothing, she thought, trying to convince herself as she turned, walking toward the stop sign at the end of the road. But every time she put weight on her right leg, it reminded her that she wasn’t the same person she used to be.

In more ways than one.

No, she couldn’t rely on her old ideas of what she was capable of. She couldn’t rely on her once strong self anymore. That wasn’t her. That woman was gone, stolen by Brian in one too many fits of anger, one too many snide remarks.

“How did I get here?” she said as she reached the stop sign. Her right leg was already aching, protesting the exertion.

And she’d only just started.

Justine turned, focusing on the map she’d created in her head. She’d had no choice but to memorize the route since Brian had confiscated her cell phone months ago. It was dumb luck that she’d even managed to connect to a neighbor’s Wi-Fi at all. It wouldn’t have been possible months ago, when she was still almost completely immobile, sprawled out on the couch with nothing but some streaming services to entertain her.

And the worst part was that he’d been better since the injury. Him controlling every moment of her life had been better than before. Before, she’d been careful about her every action, her every word, all to preserve the peace. Anything could trigger him, and somehow she’d fallen into a pattern of going to extremes to appease him. He’d never hurt her physically, but he’d insulted her and denigrated her, and she’d taken it for the sake of fixing their broken relationship.

That is… until the “incident.”

That’s what he always called it. The “incident.” He couldn’t seem to call it an accident, but he also couldn’t seem to admit his part in it, either. There was often this look in his eyes when the topic came up, like even without saying it, he was blaming her.

Or was that just my mind playing tricks on me?

She was honestly a little afraid to know the truth. She didn’t want to know the truth. What was worse, someone psychologically abusing you or making up a fantasy that someone was abusing you to explain your issues?

After a few more blocks, she began to actually feel the way the one bone bowed, deformed as punishment for not breaking when the other one did. She could feel the distortion of the bone, which caused her gait to become more and more awkward with each step. It hurt, but she ignored it, because it also felt good to walk in two shoes again. Real shoes. For the first time in months, she could walk without rolling her right foot, her right leg constantly feeling longer than her left.

It was freeing, but with each step, the nagging fear grew, a fear built upon years of insidious mind games. Even now, with that “incident” threatening to resurface from the back of her mind, she still wanted to believe he was the smiling, charming man she’d met years ago. She wanted to believe her instincts and judgment couldn’t have been that far off. She wanted to believe that she wasn’t this weak thing that couldn’t even stand up for herself.

I’m standing up for myself now.

“Isn’t that what counts?” she said out loud, then cringed when she spotted someone within earshot, someone who might have heard her talking to herself.

Does he think I’m crazy?

She watched him carefully for several long moments as she approached the next intersection, looking for indicators in his facial expressions and body language.

He seemed oblivious.

She sighed a breath of relief when she spotted the earbuds in his ears.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

Just get to Amira’s place.

That was her plan: get to Amira’s place. Anything after that was beyond her ken, a reality so far into the future it didn’t bear thinking about.

And yet, what if Amira didn’t take her in? What if she didn’t help her? She hadn’t told her college friend that she was coming over, let alone that she was arriving with nothing but the clothes on her back. Would she turn her away? They hadn’t really talked in months, after all. Her injury and Brian’s subsequent overprotectiveness had separated her from everyone she knew, and she’d only managed to reconnect with Amira a couple days ago.

She supposed that was the impetus for all this, reconnecting with an old friend. Amira had been excited to hear from her again, immediately asking her what she’d been up to and where she’d been. Justine had been reticent, not knowing what to say. What could she say? There was just so much, and all of it felt… impossible. Her fingers had frozen on the keyboard. Even typing the words had seemed an impossible feat, like doing so made it real. She wasn’t sure she could handle that yet.

As her walk continued, she tried not to think about what she was leaving behind and what Brian would think when he got home.

Or worse, what he would do.

Instead, she tried to clear her mind, focusing on the physical things. The constant uneven pace of her footfalls. The swing of her arms. The bellows of her breath. The heat of the sun against her skin. She focused on each crossroads, trying to determine how far she’d traveled and how much longer she had to go.

It felt like an eternity.

Before long, she started to tire, none of her muscles being accustomed to this level of activity. She’d spent the last six months mostly sitting on a couch, her broken leg slowly withering away. When the doctor had finally removed the cast, her right leg had been half the size of her left.

Maybe I shouldn’t have done this.

Maybe she’d been unrealistic and overestimated her abilities. Walking several miles to her friend’s apartment was probably more of an undertaking than she was ready for.

But what else could she have done? She had no phone, no money, nothing. Brian had seen to it that she couldn’t have left him if she tried.

Watch me, she thought to herself in a rare moment of gumption.

She supposed a similar moment had inspired this trip as well. She’d been sitting in the doctor’s office, listening as he told her she could officially stop using the walking boot. Brian had been his “normal” charming self, smiling and nodding along with the doctor’s instructions, acting as if he was a parent in an appointment with an injured child rather than a monster ensuring her silence.

For whatever reason, Justine had sat there feeling annoyed with Brian, annoyed with his facade, annoyed with their farce of a relationship, annoyed with her own passivity. She imagined her old self telling him to go fuck off. She imagined standing up and shoving him out of the room, then turning to the doctor and declaring, “He did this. He broke my leg.”

It made her think of an offhand comment one of the doctors had made. “I’ve never seen this kind of break outside of child abuse.” She remembered her cheeks heating at the statement, but the doctor had been staring at the x-rays, so he’d neither seen her blush nor the way Brian had stiffened, as if the statement was a direct accusation.

Justine, stop it, she told herself as she realized she was doing it again. She was letting her mind wander, letting it dwell on things she was better off forgetting.

I don’t need him.

He’s dead to me.

He’s my past.

She said the words in her head over and over again like a mantra, eventually using it like a metronome to set her pace, each word a beat as her foot hit the concrete.

She got lost in that rhythm, and the bad memories faded for a spell. As they lost their power over her, her awareness of the day’s heat intensified. She began to notice the way sweat beaded on her face and how the sun beat down on her skin. She wanted so desperately to be indoors and wished she were already there.

Because I certainly don’t wish I was back home.

Justine tensed and stopped, willing the looming memories to recede once more. It took all her focus not to think about them. Her eyes widened, and she held her breath as she kept her mind blank, forcing him out of her thoughts by sheer force of will.

Finally, she started her mantra again.

I don’t need him.

He’s dead to me.

He’s my past.

After several iterations, she continued down the sidewalk, then turned onto a road that had no sidewalk at all. She transitioned to walking in the narrow gutter on the left side of the road.

This neighborhood was a little poorer and older than the one she’d left. The yards were a little less manicured, the buildings a little more worn around the edges, and the vehicles had a few more years on them. It was the type of place that served as a buffer zone, protecting the well-off neighborhoods from the seedier ones. She imagined each house filled with hardworking families trying to make do on incomes that kept them out of poverty, but not by much.

Recognizing where she was, she picked up her pace, although by this time, her leg was screaming at her. Each step was painful, and she wanted nothing more than to sit down and not get up again.

But I’m so close. Just a little farther, and I can sit with Amira, where there’s air conditioning.

The air conditioning was what did it for her. Her pace picked up even further in spite of the sharp pain shooting up her right leg every time her foot hit the pavement. Her limp became more pronounced, and she wished she’d thought to grab her crutches. She’d stopped using them when she started using the walking boot, so it hadn’t occurred to her to bring them, but it would have helped, would have taken a little of the burden off her weakened limb.

After a few more minutes, the street opened up into an apartment complex. Plain brick buildings rose from concrete parking lots while mature trees softened the experience. Because it was the middle of the day, few cars cluttered the scene. Most people were at work.

From this distance, the buildings looked homey and nice, the community a quiet oasis. She could even hear birds chirping somewhere. It made her smile, like the universe was telling her this was the right choice.

As she walked through the apartment complex, looking for building 1703, her limp became almost absurd. She felt like Igor from Frankenstein, her gait rolling and thumping again and again as it became more of a struggle to put weight on her bad leg. Even so, she was hopeful. As she grew closer, the buildings looked worn and rundown, but even that couldn’t hold back her optimism.

I’m here, she thought. I made it!

She felt proud, proud that she’d escaped, proud that she’d reached her destination. And Brian couldn’t stop her because he didn’t have a clue. She eagerly searched the buildings, looking for her friend’s address.

“There!” she said aloud as she spotted 1703, her hand automatically lifting to point at the numbers on the face of the building. The 0 was missing, but she could still see where it had hung there for years, the brick behind it now a different color.

She picked up her pace, but it was hard. Her leg didn’t want to cooperate, but her enthusiasm wouldn’t let it slow her down. She practically hopped now as she crossed over the grass to get to the front door.

Justine pulled the door open. It was unlocked and exposed a carpeted area between the apartments, with stairs creeping up to the second floor. She glanced at the numbers on the door of the closest apartment and decided Amira was probably upstairs.

Of course.

She rolled her eyes, but gamely walked over to the stairs and reached out for both railings, basically using them as crutches as she hopped step by step to the second floor.

When she reached the top, she recognized Amira’s door immediately. It was the one with a beautiful tapestry hanging on it, decorated with the Muslim crescent and star symbol. She crossed the space and stood slightly to the right of the door. Her hand reached out to the tapestry, tracing the crescent. Amira had always been very up front about her religion, sort of like, “If you don’t like it, tough. This is me.” It was part of the reason they’d gotten along so well. They had different interests and different beliefs, but they’d approached those things with the same zeal and disregard for the opinions of others.

Just thinking of the old days, which felt so distant now, had tears rolling down her face. Suddenly, she wondered if she belonged here anymore. She wasn’t the same strong, opinionated person she’d been the last time they’d seen each other. Would Amira even like her anymore? Or would she see her as weak and easily manipulated? Would she look upon her with disgust for bending to Brian’s tactics?

Of course, she will. That’s who I am now, isn’t it?

She pressed her palm against the door as the tears reached her chin and started flowing down her neck. She sniffed as the cold from the metal door seeped into her skin.

Just knock, damn it!

She took in a shaky breath and wiped her cheeks, but it would be obvious that she’d been crying. There would be no hiding that. She curled her hand into a fist, still resting against the door, and whispered under her breath, “You can do this. You’ve gotten this far. Just knock.”

Justine pulled her hand back and rapped her knuckles against the green-painted metal. The sound reverberated through the hallway, causing her to jump.

Knock it off! He doesn’t know you’re here. No one’s gonna harm you.

As she finished berating herself, noises drifted from inside the apartment as someone approached.

Suddenly, it occurred to her that she hadn’t brought a gift. Almost from the moment the thought popped into her head, she felt silly for even thinking it. This wasn’t a normal situation, and Justine wasn’t a normal guest. No one in their right mind would expect her to bring a gift on today of all days.

What’s wrong with me?

When the door opened, her voice quavered when she said, “As salaam alaikum.”

On autopilot, Amira muttered, “Wa Alaikum Assalam. Justine?”

* * *

Justine felt awkward as she sat on the couch in her friend’s living room. She wanted to curl up into a ball, but her leg was achy from the walk and she was hesitant to put her feet on the upholstery. Amira had always been so particular about keeping her home clean.

“Here,” Amira said as she approached from the kitchen with some tea.

Justine accepted the cup, a small smile gracing her face as the heat radiated into her hands from the smooth ceramic material. She closed her eyes, enjoying the creature comfort, but it only brought into starker relief how tight the skin on her face felt, a souvenir of the tears she’d shed only minutes before. She opened them again, now looking around the tidy room. There was no television here as there was in most living rooms. Instead, a couch and several comfy chairs and end tables encircled a coffee table. It was the layout of a room intended for socializing. Unfortunately, Justine wasn’t feeling very social right now.

After handing her the tea, Amira turned and headed back to the kitchen as Justine’s gaze wandered to the walls. There weren’t any pictures, just little creative cross-stitch projects in Arabic. Some were short and sweet, things Amira had likely made in her free time. Others were longer, full paragraphs in that elegant script, the designs reminding her of illuminated manuscripts.

I wish I knew what it meant.

But she only knew a little bit of Arabic, and she’d never learned to read the language. What she did know, she’d learned back in college. During one of their “lessons,” she remembered asking why all Amira’s artwork was just writing. Amira had said, “I love my religion. It’s beautiful. Don’t Christians use inspirational phrases as decoration as well?”

Amira interrupted Justine’s thoughts by returning to the room with a tray, which she set on the table. She sat down in a chair across from Justine and started adding lemon to her own tea. The tray was loaded down with cheese, crackers, nuts, and fruit, and Justine felt even worse for not bringing a gift.

I’m a terrible guest.

She looked down at her teacup. “I’m sorry.”

Amira paused. “For what?”

Justine tucked a non-existent stray hair behind her ear. “For barging in on you like this.”

Amira scoffed, waving off the apology. “You are always welcome in my home. Never forget that.” She scooted forward in her seat, resting her forearms against her legs. “So, because I’m not very good at subtlety, I’m just going to get right to the heart of it. What do you need, Justine?”

She looked up. Amira almost seemed serene, like a holy woman or something. Her hijab was a subdued black today, and she was wearing “house clothes,” as she called them. Yoga pants and a loose, long-sleeved tunic made her look beyond the cares of this world in Justine’s eyes. Probably, on any other day, the outfit would have just looked relaxed, comfy, maybe even frumpy, but right then, Amira was her anchor, her life raft, and that made her sublime.

Justine opened her mouth, but no words came out. What could she say? How could she admit what she’d let happen? It seemed impossible, so she started with the basics. “I left him,” she said simply.

Amira didn’t immediately speak, instead rotating her cup with her fingertips as she seemed to stare deep into Justine’s soul. “We’re happy about this, yes?”

Justine nodded hesitantly. It had been a long time since she’d said or done anything against Brian, and she could almost feel the weight of his hand on her shoulder, that physical reminder he always used to steer her actions and words.

“Then good,” Amira said, leaning back in her seat with a smile as she took a sip of her tea. Yet, beyond the smile, she could see a shrewdness in her friend’s gaze. Like she saw exactly what Justine had been through, but was too polite to say anything.

Justine also sat back and took a sip. The tea was strong, but the heat suffused her insides, making her almost sigh in contentment. She relaxed into the couch little by little, only realizing as each muscle eased just how tense she’d still been. Being in this room, in this haven, was allowing her to let go for the first time in a long time.

Far too long.

The minutes dragged by in mutual silence, each of them awkwardly focused on their drinks while intermittently casting furtive glances at each other. Eventually, Amira put her tea down and stood. “It’s far too quiet. I’m going to put something on.” She walked over to the mantel and started fiddling with a small speaker there, then stepping back with satisfaction when some soft instrumental jazz started playing. “There. That’s better.” She turned and smiled. “I’ve always liked music like this. Just reminds me of the beauty of the world Allah created, the beauty of people sometimes.”

“Not all people are beautiful,” Justine said, thinking of Brian, who was as dark inside as he was charming outside.

Amira turned to her, her expression solemn. “I know. Sometimes, the best we can do is leave behind those influences that will lead us astray.”

Justine nodded distractedly as her mind’s eye started focusing on darker things. Amira’s statement hit too close to home, and a part of her wanted to unburden herself, to tell her friend everything. She needed to get this off her chest. She needed to tell someone, but would it do any good? Or would it just needlessly burden Amira with something she didn’t deserve to carry?

It felt like an impossible decision, a terrible choice no person should ever have to make, so instead of deciding, she looked up at her friend and said, “Can I stay here?”

Amira’s mouth stretched into a slow smile, her eyes soft with emotion. “Of course you can.”

There was a massive relief with those words. Justine felt lighter, and she couldn’t help smiling as well. “Thanks,” she said as her hope suddenly became a very real thing, something she could see and touch and believe in.

I’m gonna be okay.

I’m gonna be safe.

Finally.

* * *

The rest of the morning and afternoon passed without incident. They ate snacks and listened to music. During one of the ad breaks, a segment came on about some alien matchmaking service, which had spurred the conversation on for quite a while, giving Justine an appreciated reprieve from her problems.

“Can you imagine?” Amira’s voice had held a combination of curiosity and distaste. “An alien.”

“Well, maybe they’re like us. Maybe they just want companionship, love.”

“I mean, that may very well be, but I could never leave Earth.”

“I could see the appeal.” Those words had slipped from Justine’s lips like a carefully held secret.

“You’d leave?” Amira had sounded hurt at the idea.

Realizing what she’d done, Justine had backpedaled. She’d stuttered as she’d looked up at Amira, begging with her eyes for her friend to understand. “Oh no, Amira. It’s not like that. I’d never want to leave you. You’re the one thing I have going for me right now.”

Compassion and pity had instantly taken the hurt’s place. “Oh, Justine.”

Neither of them had known what to say after that. Eventually, Amira had excused herself, saying she had work to do, and she’d shown Justine to the room she would stay in. It was a simple room, clearly intended for visiting family members, with a space set aside in the corner for prayer. There was even a qibla compass on a side table so a visitor not familiar with the space would know which direction to face.

Alone and with nothing to do, Justine had sat down on the bed, keenly aware of the way the mattress contoured beneath her weight. She’d sat that way for some time, just staring at her surroundings, not wanting to think, but also not knowing what to do, either. Her life was too much of a blank slate now, and it left her feeling paralyzed.

At some point, she’d propped some pillows against the headboard and turned on the TV, hoping to get lost in some mindless entertainment.

That had been hours ago, and now she wondered if Amira had finished work for the day. Back before Brian, Amira had worked at home as an astrophysicist. She still remembered the setup, the stratification of the room, with a desk and working space on one side of the bed and her religious paraphernalia on the other.

Eventually, Justine got up and went to the window, wondering what time it was. It was broad daylight, which this time of year meant it could be as late as almost ten o’clock. She could see one of the parking lots from here, could see as the spaces began filling with people arriving home from work. A part of her, the part driven by fear, started to ramp up as car after car arrived.

What if one of them is Brian?

What if he’s found me?

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, trying to be quiet. “He doesn’t know where I am. He has no way of knowing. I got away clean.”

Or did I?

What if she forgot to wipe her browser history? What if he got access to her social media accounts? What if he was tracking her computer somehow?

The more time passed, the more credit she seemed to give him, like he had supernatural powers or something.

Then the doorbell rang.

It’s him.

She panicked, her gaze spinning around the room, looking for an out, looking for somewhere she could hide. Her brain revved in neutral, unable to click into gear.

“I’ll get it!” Amira called out.

Amira’s steps clomped down the hallway, making Justine want to cry out, “No!” She wanted to tell her to pretend they weren’t home, but her words stayed lodged in her throat, and suddenly, she could barely breathe. She dropped to her knees, holding her neck and gasping for breath.

No. He can’t find me. I can’t go back. I just can’t.

Murmurs filtered to her from the other room, unintelligible as the blood rushed in her ears. Moments later, the door clicked closed, and Amira yelled across the apartment. “How would you like some Indian takeout?”

Justine paused, her panic and paranoia momentarily dispelled. The pressure eased slightly, and she waited for someone else to speak, maybe the person who’d knocked on the door.

“Justine?” Amira said, sounding concerned.

“Sure,” she replied, her voice squeaking. “Sounds good,” she continued, this time a bit more normal in tone.

She pushed her way up from the floor, the harsh yarn of the carpet digging into her hands. Her legs were sluggish and sore as she limped across the room and pushed out into the hall. She still half expected Brian to be standing there at the entryway, waiting for her. Amira was in the kitchen, a package in front of her and her phone in her hand. Justine let out a sigh of relief and continued forward.

“What shall we order?” Amira asked, but then abruptly quieted as she looked up at Justine.

“Butter chicken?” Justine said, trying to act normal.

Amira’s smile was obviously forced, but she barreled forward, pretending everything was fine. “Cool.” She looked back down at the phone in her hand, her fingers selecting options on the screen, then set the phone down on the counter. “There. Should be about half an hour.”

Trying to distract herself from the looming panic attack, she turned her focus to the box on the counter. “What’s in the package?”

“Nothing important.” Amira rapped her fingers against the cardboard, the material thumping dully with each tap. “Just a new hijab. I couldn’t resist. It was gorgeous.”

“Do you want to try it on while we wait?”

Amira looked coy at first, but then burst into a smile, nodded her head eagerly, and rushed off to her bedroom with the small box.

Justine turned and settled into a chair in the living room, leaning a little to the side to get a view of the hallway. She tried to relax, but she was still tense from the doorbell ringing.

It’s gonna happen again, silly, when the food arrives. Calm down.

She swallowed heavily and tried to relax her muscles, but she feared it wouldn’t last. She was skittish as hell right now and suspected every little noise was going to startle her for quite some time.

This is what he did to me.

She took a deep breath in and out, repeating it again and again until Amira’s door opened and she stepped out, experimentally touching the material on her head and neck. “What do you think?” she said as she reached the living room. She spun around, arms spread wide, before facing Justine once more. “Isn’t is gorgeous?”

It was a jewel-toned material with silver accents. The accents ran along the edge closest to her face. The material wasn’t any specific color, but transitioned from teal to purple to blue.

“It’s fantastic. Do you have something special you plan to wear it with?”

Amira nodded. “I have a holiday dress that should match it perfectly.”

“Awesome.”

She sat down on the couch and continued to touch the hijab, playing with the corners near her shoulder, adjusting the areas where she’d pinned it in place.

“How’s your job going?”

Amira nodded. “Good. Real good. Although, sometimes I fantasize about finding work at a mosque or something.”

“Really? I know you love your religion, but is that really what you want? I thought you loved astrophysics.”

She bit her lip. “I do love my work. Really, I think it’s more of a fantasy. I have this grandiose idea in my head of revolutionizing Islam and making it more modern, but it seems so egotistical. It also seems impossibly large, like it’s more than one person can do. And you’re right, I don’t think it’s what I want to do. I love my religion, but everyone needs balance, right? It’s too easy to get caught up in a microcosm and lose perspective. I would hate that. I wouldn’t even recognize myself anymore, I think. Plus, we both know I’m not known for holding my tongue.” She chuckled.

Justine laughed along with her, and it surprised her so much she stopped mid laugh. When was the last time she’d laughed? “No, you’re not. But that’s why we get along.” Saying it was automatic, something she’d said or thought countless times before. But this time, it stopped her dead yet again, and she fought back the tears that welled in her eyes as she realized it just wasn’t true anymore. She wasn’t like Amira now. Brian had seen to that.

“Oh, Justine,” Amira said. She rushed across the living room, sat on the arm of Justine’s chair, and pulled her into a side hug, pressing her hijab-clad chin on top of her head. “There, there. I know something’s wrong, but it’s over now. You’re here. I’m here for you. It’s behind you. It can’t hurt you anymore.”

But it wasn’t behind her, was it? It was still fresh, still looming, still raw and painful. Only that morning, she’d wished Brian a good day as she sat on the couch, still unaccustomed to having nothing on her leg. Brian had told her to “take it easy,” that she was still healing, and he wouldn’t want her to make it worse. She’d smiled, but she’d long since stopped believing in his kindness. It always came with strings. There was always a price.

And love shouldn’t come at a price.

That was what she kept telling herself, and it was a little easier to believe it here in Amira’s warm, comfy living room. It was easier to trust in herself when Brian wasn’t looming, wasn’t controlling, wasn’t talking for her. “Thanks,” she said quietly. And all of a sudden, she realized she wasn’t fighting back tears anymore. She was okay. She wasn’t great. Her nose was stuffed and running, her face felt way too hot, and her outlook was still pretty grim, but she wasn’t on the verge of tears anymore.

She continued to sit there, letting Amira hold her and comfort her. She had no idea how long they sat like that, just taking and offering comfort, but she could have happily stayed like that forever. When the doorbell rang, they both startled, jumping away from each other. There was a tense moment, each of them expecting the worst, then they looked at each other and the dam broke. They chuckled, releasing some much needed tension.

“That’s probably the food,” Amira said. She turned and first grabbed her phone from the counter, then opened the door.

Justine noticed how Amira leaned backward, looking shocked and maybe even a little outraged. “Can I help you?” she said, sounding stern in a way that surprised Justine.

She stood, wondering who was at the door. The door opened toward her, blocking the view, so she had to get behind Amira before she could see who it was.

It was Brian.