Chapter 3 Three

Chapter 3: Threshold of Hope

The houses on this street looked like something out of a book. Big front porches, flower pots on windowsills, wind chimes tinkling in the breeze. Everything smelled like toast and morning. I passed by kitchen windows where families sat together, laughing or pouring cereal, and it made me feel even more like I didn't belong. Like I was some kind of ghost watching a life I wasn't part of anymore. Or maybe never was.

The sky was turning orange, soft and slow, the way it does right before sunrise. That early light painted the roofs in gold, and for a second, it felt like everything was holding its breath. Then I saw it.

St. Jude's Haven.

It was exactly like the flyer said. An old Victorian house, tall and kind of lopsided, like it had stories to tell. The paint on the porch was fresh. A big oak tree stood out front like it was protecting the house. The sign on the gate made it official. My heart jumped when I read the words again: A Safe Place for Young Hearts.

I stood there, frozen, my fingers gripping the cold strap of my backpack. What if this was just another lie? Another place where people smiled until the door shut, and then it turned into something else?

But I couldn't go back. I couldn't sleep on the street again, hiding behind a dumpster or curled in a doorway like trash. I had to try.

So I pushed open the gate. It creaked, but not in a scary way-just old. I walked up the path, my sneakers crunching against little bits of gravel. Then I was standing in front of the door. It was big and dark red, with a little stained-glass window near the top.

My hand hovered for a second. I could still turn back. Run. Find some alley to hide in.

But then I knocked.

Once.

Twice.

Then I waited.

The silence was awful. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. What if they didn't answer? What if they looked at me and said no? What if this was just another place where I wasn't wanted?

I was just about to turn around-like my feet were already facing the street-when the door opened.

And standing there was this woman. Not young, but not scary-old either. She had silver hair in a bun and the softest eyes I'd ever seen. Her smile was small, kind. Not fake. Real. Like she smiled with her eyes too, not just her mouth.

"Good morning, dear," she said, her voice calm and warm like a blanket. "Can I help you?"

I swallowed hard. My throat felt all dry and tight. "I... I saw your sign. The one about St. Jude's Haven. I-I need a place to stay." My voice cracked on the last word. I hated that. But she didn't laugh or frown. She just nodded gently, like she understood everything in that one sentence.

She stepped aside. "Of course, dear. Come in, you look absolutely frozen."

I hesitated, just for a second. Then I stepped in.

It felt like stepping out of one world and into another.

The house was warm. Not just heat-warm, but soul-warm, if that makes sense. It smelled like something baking-cinnamon, maybe-and something else, like old books. I glanced around. The walls were painted light colors, soft blues and creams, and covered in artwork-like kids had painted them. Smiling suns, rainbows, even a funny-looking cat with purple stripes.

Ms. Reed (I didn't know her name yet, but that's who she turned out to be) closed the door behind me and smiled again. "Let's get you warm, sweetheart. Breakfast is starting soon."

I followed her to a living room with couches and a fireplace. Actual fire. Not like a screen or anything, but real crackling flames. The couch cushions looked squishy, like someone had sunk into them a million times before.

I sat down, stiff and unsure, like if I moved wrong, they'd send me away. I clutched my backpack like a shield.

Ms. Reed brought me a mug of hot cocoa. With real marshmallows. And a thick slice of toast with strawberry jam.

I didn't even remember saying yes. She just gave it to me like it was normal to treat someone like they mattered.

I took a tiny sip. The cocoa was warm and sweet, and suddenly my eyes were stinging. Not from the heat. Just from the way no one had ever been this kind to me. Not without wanting something. Not just... because.

"Take your time," Ms. Reed said, sitting across from me in a cozy armchair. "You don't have to say anything right away. When you're ready, you can tell me whatever you're comfortable sharing. This is a safe place."

I stared at her. Safe. That word felt so far away. I'd almost forgotten what it meant.

"I'm Elara," I said quietly. "I'm seventeen."

She nodded. "That's a beautiful name, Elara."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded back and looked at the fire.

She didn't ask more questions. She didn't try to get into my past like everyone else. She just sat there, giving me space. Like she knew that pushing would break something.

I looked around the room again. There were board games stacked on a shelf, and a big photo on the wall of a bunch of kids holding hands in front of the house. They looked happy. Not fake-happy. Like real happy. I couldn't remember the last time I smiled like that.

"You'll have your own room," she said softly, "and breakfast is in the dining room whenever you're ready. We don't run like a strict boarding school. It's more of a home."

I nodded again, the lump in my throat still there. A home. That word hit me harder than I expected. I wasn't sure if I believed in homes anymore. But something about this place made me want to try.

I sipped more cocoa and let the warmth spread through my chest. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't a ghost anymore.

Maybe I was a girl who still had a chance.

Ms. Reed didn't leave. She just stayed there, like an anchor. A quiet one. And for once, I didn't feel so alone.