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She stumbled up the stairs in a daze, allowing herself to be led.

Her saviour had tried to explain who she was and why she’d intervened, but Viyan had been unable to take much of it in.

The events of the last few hours had been insane, bewildering, unbelievable.

Was she dreaming? Or was it real? Had she really just driven off into the night on the back of a motorbike? Was she finally free ?

Even now, Viyan pushed that thought away.

She had been a prisoner for too long to believe that her liberty could be so easily won.

And yet the powerful, athletic woman who was now half-helping, half-carrying her up the stairs seemed kind and solicitous, gently supporting her, whilst whispering encouragement.

‘Come on, you’re almost there. You can do it.’

Viyan wanted to believe her, to prove that her spirit had not been broken by the endless cycle of exploitation and abuse, but every part of her body throbbed with pain.

Her ribs ached, her breathing was short and shallow, her legs constantly threatening to buckle, Viyan stumbling now as they continued their journey up, up, up.

Their progress here had been a blur, the liberated worker pressing her face into the firm leather of her rescuer’s jacket as they sped away, keeping her eyes to the floor as her saviour chatted quietly with the manager of the women’s refuge, focusing on putting one hesitant foot in front of the other as they climbed the stairs to the top of the building.

Small clusters of women gathered on the landings, falling silent as the strange pair limped past, but Viyan didn’t begrudge them their curiosity.

She didn’t care who looked, didn’t care where she was, as long as she was away from them .

Cresting the top-floor landing, Viyan allowed herself to be led to a heavy-duty door. It looked more like the entrance to a prison cell than a bedroom door and Viyan hesitated, suddenly wary. Sensing her disquiet, the woman – Hannah? Helen? – released her grip, stepping away to give her some space.

‘It’s OK, you’re perfectly safe. This is a women’s refuge that I’ve used many times before. It’s very discreet, very secure. No one can get to you here.’

She smiled warmly at her, before adding:

‘But if you want to go, you are free to. Or if you want me to call the police straight away, I’ll happily do so. I know you’ve been through so much …’

The kindness in her voice, the warmth of her tone, almost undid Viyan. Emotion burned in her chest, but maintaining her composure, she simply shook her head.

‘It’s OK …’ she whispered.

‘Good, then let’s get you inside.’

Bending, her guardian angel fiddled with the lock, before swinging open the door.

Moments later, they were inside, the door secured behind them, standing in the small, well-appointed bedroom.

Once again, Viyan struggled to take in what was happening – mere hours ago she had been bloodied, broken and betrayed, now she was standing in this tastefully decorated bedroom, gazing at the ensuite bathroom. How on earth had she ended up here?

‘Come on, sit down, you must be exhausted,’ the woman urged.

Together they staggered forward, Viyan collapsing onto the bed.

She seemed to melt into it, startled that such softness could exist, her battle-hardened body accustomed now to rough, wooden boards.

It was almost too much for her to process, a great gulp of sadness, of regret, of anguish erupting from her.

Only now was reality making itself felt.

She had escaped her ordeal. There was no need to suffer anymore.

No need to be scared. Suddenly she couldn’t stop herself, her relief, her sadness, her exhaustion consuming her, as the tears flowed freely.

Her whole body was shaking, she was making strange, unnatural noises, her composure deserting her.

She wanted to sob her heart out, to weep for a thousand years, finally releasing all the pain and despair she had swallowed down during the last two years.

Distraught, wild, even unhinged, she half expected her host to back away, to summon a doctor, to run a mile from this wailing dervish, but when she looked up through tear-filled eyes, she found the woman next to her, her expression suffused with generosity and kindness.

‘I know you’ve seen some terrible things, I know you’ve been through hell, but you’re going to be OK.’

Viyan half-nodded, but she continued to quiver, months of trauma making themselves felt.

‘It’s over, finished. They can’t get to you anymore.’

She gestured towards the window through which could be glimpsed the twinkling lights of the city.

Instinctively, Viyan shot a nervous glance in that direction as if fearing a face might suddenly appear at the glass, a phantom sent to drag her back to that terrible nightmare.

Sensing her alarm, her rescuer crouched down next to her, gently seeking out her hands, her sparkling eyes meeting Viyan’s, as she added:

‘You’re perfectly safe here.’

And, to her astonishment, Viyan believed her.