Inessa

8

It was about the time of her shift. The doorbell rang, and there she was—Miss Inessa. She wore a knee-length dress, modest and simple. Her makeup was barely there, her face fresh and untouched by unnecessary embellishments. Her hair was neatly braided, making her look even more delicate, almost fragile.

I had never done anything that wasn’t profitable for me or my business. Every move I made had a calculated outcome, a return on investment. But this time—this time, I wasn’t thinking with my brain. For the first time in years, I listened to my heart.

But why?

Was it only because I wanted to return the favor?

I had no idea, but knowing that she wasn’t jobless anymore brought an unexpected sense of relief. She was good at her work, diligent and focused. She never gave me a reason to complain.

Days passed, and everything settled into routine. She arrived on time every morning, preparing breakfast before I even walked into the dining room. The only time we saw each other was during those brief moments—when she served me coffee, when I nodded in approval. Our conversations were short, sometimes nonexistent apart from exchanged greetings. By evening, she was gone before I returned.

A month passed. My business was thriving, as always, except for one deal that had yet to be finalized—not that it was anything I couldn’t handle. But something else was different.

I had gotten used to her presence.

The sound of her soft footsteps. The scent of her shampoo lingering in the hallway. The way she smiled when she thought no one was watching.

Without realizing it, I had started looking forward to those small, fleeting moments. Her presence had become familiar, comforting, even in silence.

But why?

I kept telling myself it was nothing more than a passing phase. Just habit. Just routine.

But it wasn’t.

---

Like most nights, I was late returning home. Living alone had its perks, but sometimes it felt suffocating, the silence wrapping around me like a heavy fog. There was no reason for me to come home early—no one waiting for me, no warm laughter filling the space.

I stepped inside, loosening my tie as I shrugged off my coat. The fridge door creaked open as I grabbed a bottle of water, taking a long drink.

Then—

Thud.

The window slammed open, the wind roaring through the room. I turned my head. The sky was darker than usual, heavy clouds rolling in. A storm was coming.

And then—

AHHHHHHH!

A scream.

My body tensed instantly.

It was her.

“Inessa,” I muttered under my breath before bolting toward the sound. My heart pounded against my ribs. My thoughts ran wild. Why was she still here? Had something happened?

The moment I reached the kitchen, the electricity flickered back on.

She was on the floor.

Hugging herself. Sobbing. Trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.

Glass shards were scattered around her. Blood smeared the tiles.

My stomach twisted.

Blood.

“Inessa!” I shouted, moving toward her in a rush. Her eyes were distant, unfocused. She didn’t even flinch at my voice.

I knelt down, my breath uneven. She was caught in something—a memory, a fear I didn’t understand. Her chest heaved in short, erratic breaths. A panic attack.

And she was about to step on another piece of glass.

Without thinking, I scooped her up into my arms. Her body was cold, her hands gripping the fabric of my shirt as if she needed something—anything—to ground her.

She didn’t resist.

I carried her to my room, my grip firm yet careful. With every step, the blood dripping from her foot left small, crimson trails on the floor. My heart clenched at the sight.

She was hurting. And I hated it.

Once inside, I laid her down on the bed.

“Inessa,” I called her name, but she didn’t respond.

I quickly grabbed the first aid kit, pulling up a chair beside her. My fingers brushed against her ankle as I examined the wound. She flinched.

“Calm down, Inessa. You’re safe,” I murmured, my voice softer than I intended. “I need to take the glass out.”

I worked carefully, my jaw tight as I removed the shards one by one.

She whimpered.

“I know it hurts. Just a little more,” I said. I wasn’t sure if she even registered my words.

When the last piece was out, I cleaned the wound and wrapped the bandage around her foot, my hands steady despite the storm raging outside.

I sat back, watching her. Her tears hadn’t stopped. Her breathing was still uneven. She was still lost in whatever dark place her mind had dragged her into.

I exhaled heavily. I wasn’t good at comforting people. I never had been.

But seeing her like this—it did something to me.

Before I even realized it, I started humming.

A song I hadn’t sung in years.

Her breath hitched.

She clutched my shirt tighter, as if my voice was the only thing anchoring her to reality. I hesitated for a second before stroking her hair, my fingers moving in slow, careful motions.

“Inessa,” I whispered. “No one is going to hurt you here. You’re safe.”

She hiccupped, her sobs quieting ever so slightly. Then, in the smallest, most fragile voice, she murmured, “I—I’m scared of the rain.”

My throat tightened.

She wasn’t just scared. She was terrified.

I didn’t ask why. Not now. Not when she was trembling in my arms, seeking warmth, seeking safety.

“I won’t leave,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m right here.”

She clung to me, her fingers curling into my chest as she buried herself deeper into my embrace.

I didn’t move. I didn’t push her away.

I just held her.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.