Running on Faith

The shrill ring of the phone jolted me awake, a jolt that went deeper than my eardrums, vibrating through my very bones. My hand fumbled for it on the bedside table, the unfamiliar plastic cool against my skin. Dozens of missed calls. Dozens of messages. Travis. My heart, which had finally begun to settle into a rhythm of cautious peace, lurched into a frantic drumbeat. I scrolled through the names, each one a fresh wave of dread. Some were apologetic, laced with saccharine promises I’d heard a thousand times before. Others were laced with venom, sharp words meant to wound and belittle. And then there were the manipulative ones, the ones that twisted reality into a pretzel, making me question my own sanity. *“Baby, I’m so sorry. I was a fool. Just come home, and we can talk. Everything will be fine.”* *“Where are you? You can’t just disappear. You’re making a huge mistake.”* *“Don’t you dare take my kids. I’ll find you, Ava. You can’t hide from me.”*

My breath hitched. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the marrow, that this was the moment. The moment I had spent years preparing for, yet never truly believed would come. The shelter staff had been preparing me too, their calm voices a balm against the rising tide of panic. “Don’t respond, Ava,” Sarah, the kindest of them, had said gently, her eyes meeting mine with a steady understanding. “Not yet. Let him stew. Let him think. We need to create a safety plan, a real one this time.”

They moved with a quiet efficiency, a stark contrast to the chaos churning inside me. Maps were spread on tables, routes highlighted, safe houses discussed. They explained the nuances of restraining orders, the daunting labyrinth of legal proceedings. Each word was a small brick laid in the foundation of a future I was too scared to imagine. While they worked, I sat with Mason, his small hand clutching mine. He had overheard snippets of my hushed conversations with Sarah, his brow furrowed with a worry that was too heavy for his young shoulders. “Are they going to help us, Mom?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. I squeezed his hand, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “Yes, sweetie. They are. And you don’t have to carry all this by yourself anymore.” The subtle shift in his gaze, a flicker of relief in his usually burdened eyes, was a victory in itself. He’d been my little protector for so long, and the thought of him finally being able to just be a child, to play and learn without the constant weight of our situation, brought a fresh sting to my eyes.