Chapter 6: Auntie’s Safe Haven
At Auntie's house, she prepared a separate room for me. On the nightstand was a pile of snacks and the phone she bought me.
The room smelled of vanilla candles and fresh laundry. A stack of magazines and a cozy throw blanket waited on the bed. The phone was still in its bright blue case, a tiny symbol of independence.
That phone was Auntie's reward when I got into the city's top high school three years ago. She helped me register for Instagram, so I wouldn't be the odd one out among my classmates—the only one without Instagram or Snapchat, like I was in middle school.
She even let me pick out my own username, laughing as we scrolled through filters together. It was the first time I’d felt included, both online and in real life.
Auntie noticed my mood and pulled me down to sit beside her:
She wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into her side. Her warmth seeped into me, melting the last of my tension.
"Natalie, tomorrow I'll take you and Jamie to see a movie. Then, on the 28th, it's your birthday. I'll treat you to Olive Garden, okay?"
To celebrate my birthday at Olive Garden?
My eyes widened. I’d watched their cheesy TV ads for years—endless breadsticks, birthday candles, laughter. For once, I wanted that to be me. I'd walked past their endless breadsticks and cheesy commercials for years, dreaming of celebrating my birthday there—just once, surrounded by friends and laughter instead of stress.
That had always been my dream.
I imagined the soft glow of the lamps, the laughter, the clink of silverware. The idea felt like a small miracle.
"Auntie, can I invite two friends?"
"Of course."
Aunt Sarah squeezed my hand. "It’s your day, Nat. Invite whoever you want."
With Auntie's promise, I was so happy I forgot all my unhappiness. I finally had something to look forward to for my 18th birthday, but I was still worried: "Auntie, will Mom agree?"
The anxiety crept back in, cold and familiar. What if Mom said no? What if she took this away, too?
"She has to agree—it's your 18th birthday..." Auntie paused, looking at me with pain in her eyes. "I Venmo'd you $80. Mom doesn't know. If you want to buy something for your game, that's fine—just don't stay up all night, okay?"
My phone buzzed with the Venmo alert—$80. The little blue icon felt like a secret handshake. Her wink was conspiratorial, like we were partners in some secret rebellion. The money meant more than just spending—it meant freedom, and trust.
Auntie closed the door for me. I held my phone and curled up in the warm blankets, not wanting to fall asleep at all.
I checked my texts, scrolled through Instagram, and let myself breathe. For once, the silence was comforting, not suffocating. I hugged the blanket tighter, savoring the safety of Auntie's house.
Tonight's freedom was so precious. I was filled with gratitude toward Auntie.
I whispered a silent thank you, wishing she could understand just how much she meant to me. For the first time in months, my thoughts felt light enough to drift toward hope.