The first night at the safe house was surprisingly peaceful. There were no police sirens, no barking dogs, no fighting, no cell doors slamming, no jingle of correctional officer keys every hour. And the bed. Oh my, the bed. Even the halfway house and rehab had mats for beds, thicker than at the jail, but these beds were the comfiest I could remember sleeping on since I was a little girl.
The comforter was crisp, clean and smelled of fabric softener. I hadn’t had soft laundry in years either. All institutions clean their laundry in harsh chemicals and definitely don’t waste money on fabric softener.
Even though it was autumn, I adored that I had a window that I could see out of in my room. It wasn’t frosted glass like at the jail and it wasn’t looking at another pod either. My window faced the woods and you could still hear crickets faintly in the night. I cracked open the window and embraced my new freedom. The windows in the jail and in the homes I was trafficked out of always had bars on them, or they just simply didn’t open.
I crawled under the covers that night, feeling a warmth I had long forgotten and the cool autumn night breeze caressed my cheek. In that moment, I heard God whisper, “sleep well my child, I am here to keep you safe.”