The bus hissed as it came to a halt in the small Southern town of Leeville. The station was barely more than a cinder block building and a rusting bench, with air that smelled like dust and something fried. Janiah stepped off, hoodie still pulled tight, backpack slung over one shoulder. The sky was warmer here—less bruised, more open.


Ms. Carter’s contact was easy to spot. A woman with salt-and-pepper braids and a clipboard stood by the entrance. She smiled the way only tired, good-hearted people did—like she knew pain but had made peace with it.


“You must be Janiah,” she said.


Janiah nodded, unsure if her voice would work.


“I’m Miss Dee. Welcome to New Steps House.”


She followed Miss Dee to an old van that had “Empower Women, Empower the World” painted across the back in faded purple letters. Inside were two other girls, both quiet, both pretending not to stare.


They rode in silence, Janiah clutching her bag like a shield. The town passed by slowly—corner stores, gas stations, a beauty salon with a broken neon sign that blinked Open one letter at a time.


The house sat on a quiet street lined with porches and wind chimes. It was pale yellow, three stories, with flowers growing wild around the porch. Miss Dee called it a transitional home, but to Janiah, it looked like a second chance.


Inside, the walls were warm with soft colors and quiet music. Her room was small but clean, with a twin bed, a desk, and a window that opened to the sound of birds. There was a note on the pillow in looping handwriting: “You made it. Rest now. Tomorrow begins everything.”


Janiah sat on the edge of the bed. Her whole body ached with the weight of leaving—but also, strangely, with the lightness of having left.


She didn’t know the house. Didn’t know the girls. Didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.


But for the first time in a long time, she knew one thing for sure.


She was no longer his.


She was hers again.