He steps out of the bathroom, around my now rigid form, and comes back with a pile of clean clothes. Leaning across me, he pulls a fresh, fluffy white towel down from the rack and places it near the clothes before opening the shower and turning it on.

“Clean up,” he says abruptly, then walks away, out the door, closing it behind him. The click of the door startles me from my shock and my eyes rise to meet the mirror, and I take in my appearance. My porcelain white skin is splattered with red, along with my beautiful green activewear. I take big breaths to calm myself, before I explore his bathroom. The tiles are polished, not a mark on them, a bathtub that looks like I could swim in it is along one wall, and the shower is big enough for a party of five. The glass so clean and clear it is hard to distinguish where it starts and ends. Water pours from the tall rainfall showerhead, steam enveloping the space.

I can smell him here, his woodsy scent that brings me a wave of peace. And it dawns on me that I’m still not sure whether I’m safe here. Whether I’m going to live or die… Only, I’m not scared about what’s coming. As terrifying as the events of this morning have been, dying doesn’t matter to me. It is going to happen sooner rather than later anyway, something I have known for a long time and have come to terms with it. I have never been diagnosed, but I know the statistics. Breast cancer affects 1 in 7 women during their lifetime, and if it runs in your family, then the risk is higher.

With that thought, it’s like I’m free to just lean into whatever this crazy circumstance has provided me. And right now, it looks like it’s brought me to a beautiful home with an exceptionally tempting shower. Much nicer than the one waiting for me back at my hotel.

I slowly peel off my activewear and then step into the warm shower. This is what I would imagine a five-star hotel to be like, or even six star if there was such a thing. This level of luxury is not something I ever imagined experiencing in my simple life, and a small grin comes to my face as I lather myself in his soap.

The water runs red down the drain as I wash off the events of this morning, and I grab his shampoo to scrub my long hair next. I have always loved my hair. The red color is striking, and it is one of the many reasons why I have said nothing about my lump in my breast. I don’t want to lose the color with medication I would need to take. I wouldn’t feel like me anymore.