Safe is where you choose it to be.

The key is still in the lock. It seems I was in a hurry to get out. I grasp onto the handle, as I have done every time before. My knuckles white, I rub at the ornate filigree tip. Glancing down, I can glimpse my reflection in that sliver of brass. Polished to gleaming from my every attempt. I note the notches along the doorframe. Two, four, six and eight.

Along the sides, the paint splatters seep through. Flecks of cream speckle the dark, aged wooden door.

‘What about this time?’ she asks me.

‘I’m sorry. I still can’t do it.’

‘Why? What are you so afraid of?’

I can’t release my gaze from the door. If I do, I know this time will end in the same way as every time before.

‘What if the walls turn away from me. What if the floor falls out from under me. What if the bed with the purple flowers has wilted. What if the stuffed animals don’t have sparkles in their eyes anymore. What if the clothes have holes in them? The bracelets tarnished. The music scratchy. The floor not squeaky in all the right places. The - ‘

I let out a sigh and sit in front of the door. Putting my hands in my lap, I will myself to stay focused on the handle.

It’s been too long. I need to go back in.

She comes over and sits down beside me.

She lets out a sigh that echoes my own back to me.

But hers is a melody.

‘What would happen if the walls turned away? If the floor falls out? If the purple flowers are wilted and the stuffed animals don’t sparkle? If the clothes have holes, the bracelets are tarnished. What happens if the music is scratchy and the floor doesn’t squeak?’

She leans her head on my shoulder, patiently waiting for my reply.

As if she has all the time in the world.

‘It can’t.’

It’s not an answer. But it’s all I can muster.

My stomach clenches and writhes as we sit there. Both of us, eyes locked on the door.

Hers are softer. Mine are aching. Hard and tired.

‘Why?’ She whispers.

‘Because.’

‘Because, then I might turn away. I might fall out from under me. I might wilt and not sparkle. I might have holes and tarnish. I might be scratchy and not squeak.’

None of it makes sense, but I know she understands.

She winds her arm through mine.

Her arm holds up my own. So I fully let go.

‘But what if the walls stay standing. The floor stays firm. The purple flowers are in full bloom and the stuffed animals are sparkling. What if the clothes are pristine and the bracelets are shining? What if the music sings and the floor squeaks just right? What then?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What then?’

‘I’ll be safe.’

‘You’ll be safe.’

‘We’ll be safe.’

‘And if not?’

‘I -’

‘If not?’

‘Then where is home?’

‘Where is safe?’

‘Safe is where you choose it to be.’

We stay there for a time. No more words are spoken.

Without a sound, I rise to my feet.

I turn and reach out my hand.

She smiles up at me and slides her hand into mine.

‘Safe is where you choose it to be.’

I repeat back to her.

For that’s all I’ve been doing since I left this room. Echoing her words back to her. Once I’ve learnt their different shapes.

With a deep breath, I reach for the handle.

She gives my hand a squeeze as I tighten my grip.

I push down on the handle.

And we walk in together.