Chapter 8 - THE APARTMENT OVER THE BAKERY
Eric drove me straight to his place—a small, sunlit studio apartment located directly above
a neighborhood artisanal bakery on Maple Street. The air inside smelled faintly of cinnamon, yeast, and roasted coffee beans. He cleared off his spare futon, set up a small folding desk for my laptop, and insisted I take the bed while he crashed on the couch.
“You’re safe here, Amber,” Eric said as he handed me a mug of chamomile tea. “My lease runs through June, and my roommate moved out last month. You can stay in his room as long as you need to figure things out.”
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The generosity overwhelmed me. I had spent my entire life believing that love and shelter were conditional transactions requiring constant labor and absolute obedience. To receive kindness with no strings attached felt entirely foreign.
The next morning, I woke up without the familiar crushing weight on my chest. The air in the room felt light, clean, and breathable. Sitting at the folding desk, I opened my laptop and began the terrifying, exhilarating process of untangling my life from my parents: opening an independent bank account at the local credit union, transferring my paycheck from the bookstore, and changing my emergency contacts.
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