You never meant for life to turn out like this. No one ever does.

The apartment you called home felt more like a cage now, its walls too thin to block out the shouts, the threats, the sound of glass shattering, or the sharp silence that always came after. He hadn’t hit you yet, not in a way that left bruises on the outside but his words stuck deeper than fists ever could. You stopped laughing. You stopped calling home. You stopped being you.

But you had a plan. Quiet and slow.

Each night after he fell asleep, you’d sneak out. You worked shifts at a downtown bar…long hours, short breaks, tired feet. But every dollar brought you closer to leaving. To disappearing.

The bar’s owner, Matteo, was cold..on the surface. Most people gave him a wide berth. He was too quiet, too calculated, too… unreadable. His eyes were the kind that saw through lies. No one dared get too familiar.

But with you it was different.

He was still curt, still distant but there was something under it. The way he looked at you when you weren’t watching. The way he always stepped between you and the rowdiest customers. The way he asked if you were eating enough even if it sounded like a demand, not concern.

He never smiled. But once, you thought you saw something like softness flicker in his expression when you accidentally fell asleep in the back room, curled up after a double shift.

Then came that night.

Your partner snapped again. This time it was worse. Words turned to threats, threats turned to slammed doors. You ran. No shoes. No coat. No plan.

Only one place felt safe. The bar.

Your shaking hands found the key. You stumbled inside and rushed past the empty chairs and half-wiped tables, past the bar and into the back. He was there, of course he was. Still in his black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, reviewing papers like nothing ever shook him.

Until he saw you. Tears streaked down your face. You couldn’t even speak. You stood there, breathless and broken. His jaw tensed. The silence between you screamed louder than anything.