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“You’re being charged for this,” a guard spat at me through the windows. “You won’t get away with this, inmate!”
I sat up, eyed him, and smiled. “I want a lawyer.”
4
Amara
After I saw my first bruise heal, I started to go outside.
The battered women’s shelter’s address wasn’t posted anywhere; only residents and workers knew where it was. I was safe here for once in several years.
I was still tightly coiled around survival mode, so I couldn’t relax just yet. I needed to heal and start planning for the near future. I was newly separated, homeless, and jobless. What should I do next?
I opened my phone, scrolling through the dozens of missed calls from Mark. I knew it was time for me to change my phone number. I didn’t want him to be able to reach me again.
I dialed my phone company’s phone number, putting in a request to change my phone number due to harassment. Luckily, this was done for free. The agent checked my call log and saw that indeed, I wasbeing harassed, and he granted me a phone number change. I restarted my phone, and I felt a huge sense of relief.
Just for good measure, I blocked his number, too.
A knock sounded on the door to my room. “Come in,” I called out.
A woman entered, and I noticed it was the social worker assigned to me here. “Hey Amara, how are you feeling today?”
I sighed. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot we had an appointment today. I overslept and—”
The social worker waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. I’m here now.”
I smiled awkwardly as I smoothed out my jeans, a second-hand pair given to me when I came in. I never liked jeans, but they were in my size. My birth control shot just made me bloated.
“Okay,” I muttered, shifting on my unmade bed as I sat down.
“Let’s go over your reintegration plan,” she began, opening a binder. “I see you were a lawyer before you became a housewife?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Good, it should be easy to get a job then. Would any former employer hire you back?”
I cringed. “That’s the first place Mark would look. I’d rather find employment somewhere else.”
“Could you go back home to your family?” the social worker questioned, skimming over my file.
I sighed. “No, I don’t have a way to get there, and my family and I haven’t spoken in years due to Mark isolating me.”
“Okay, let’s get you a job somewhere nearby then, for the time being. You can get your divorce finalized, save some money, then move away if you want to,” the social worker beamed.
“That works,” I shrugged. “I’d like to save up enough for my own place once I start working.”
She nodded, flipping through my file. “Would your former employers give you good references?”
“I don’t see why not. I left on good terms,” I began. “Though I only have one former employer.”
“Okay. We’ll work on your resume together. I brought my laptop, so we can start it now, then browse some job websites and apply online. Sound good?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled and scooted over, and I sat beside her on the couch. She placed her laptop on the coffee table, opened it to a resume template, and began typing in my name and information.
She turned the laptop over to me, and I typed in my education and former workplace. I added in some internships and volunteer work I did, and I paused where I should list my address.