I'm awoken by a knock at the door, but I'm too groggy to open my eyes.

"Hello?" a man asks. My father. I'm filled with equal parts excitement and dread at his presence.

"Um, who're you?" someone else asks suspiciously.

"Who are you?" my dad returns pointedly.

"I'm Jenna Harper, concerned neighbor, wondering what a strange man is doing in little Audrey's apartment. Let me in, asshat. I'm about ten seconds from calling the police."

"Easy. I'm her father," my dad says. I hear footsteps. "She was attacked at the Mission. Has a concussion."

Ms. Harper gasps. "Hm! I always tell her to be careful! Poor baby. She looks like a little kitten, all curled up like that. How's she doing?"

"Good. Some short-term memory loss, but she's been lucid when she talks to me, which is a good sign. I told her working at the Mission was a bad idea. But she has such a bleeding heart. Wants to save the world from the bottom up."

"Then she should work at a women's shelter," Ms. Harper mutters.

"Agreed. I'm Will Juarez. It's nice to meet you."

"Yes, it is."

I open my eyes. Ms. Harper, her hair still tied back in her silk sleeping cap, beams at me. "Good morning, baby! How're you doing?"

I smile. "Better. Hey, daddy."

My dad, a slight man who wears his forty-six years well, gives me a stubble-wrapped smile. "Hey, Audrey. Need anything? Hungry, thirsty?"

"No, but I'm..." I look over at my alarm clock and gasp. "I'm late for my class!"

Ms. Harper and my father both chuckle. "I called the school. Your teachers are aware of your absence. I've been promised that you won't miss any assignments or lose any points."

I sigh in relief, melting back against the bed. "Where's Tia?"

"I made her go home about an hour after I got here. She hadn't slept," my dad explains. "Stop worrying about everyone else, Audrey. How do you feel? Headache? Fogginess? Vision problems?"

"Headache," I agree. "But besides that, I'm fine."

My dad nods and walks over to a Walgreens bag on my kitchen counter. He procures a bottle of Aleve, then brings me two pills and a glass of water. "This will help."

"What happened, baby?" Ms. Harper asks.

I recount the story for them. They share a knowing glance when I finish. Then Ms. Harper announces that she'll make breakfast for my father and me, and leaves us alone.

"Audrey..." my dad starts.

"Dad, please," I cut him off. "Don't start."

"I don't want you working at the Mission anymore."

"You don't want me feeding people?"

"I don't want you around people who could hurt you. I never have, and last night was proof of why."

"No, dad. It was my fault. I went into the dorms without a man with me. It was my fault," I say, shaking my head.

Concern grips my dad's face. "You're trying to tell me it was your fault some lunatic punched you?"

I realize that I do sound ridiculous. "He's not a lunatic, he was high. He didn't understand the consequences-"

"Audrey, I don't care if it was Mother Teresa who hit you. Someone hit you, and I don't want you around them. Simple," he says. "Don't make me say it."

"I'm not making you say anything," I tell him crossly, though I know the ultimatum he is about to lay out for me.

"Stop working there, or I stop paying rent here," he says calmly.

I wish he'd stayed in the southern half of the state.

"You always hang that over my head," I say, my heart breaking at the thought of never seeing my friends at the Mission again.

"I know. I don't like using it to control you, but you make me feel like I don't have a choice. You're so generous, Audrey, but you have to learn to be just a little selfish. You have to keep yourself safe," he says softly.

"I'm twenty-one. I'm an adult, dad. I'm going to school. I don't drink, do drugs, or party. I have my shit together and you're punishing me like a little kid. I thought you were paying for this place out of the kindness of your heart, not as a means of controlling your adult daughter," I spit.

"Ideally, my adult daughter wouldn't need to be controlled," he replies dryly.

"You're gaslighting me," I observe aloud. "Stop it."

To this, he sighs. "If you say so."

And in this moment, the echoes of my childhood seem to swim around me, making my bright, happy studio seem smaller and darker.

I respect my dad. He was dealt the worst hand, the most hopeless circumstances, but he persevered to give me a better life. I love him. I love him to pieces. He did his best with me. He truly did. But his best left both of us with wounds we'll never heal from.

This mistrust is one of them. He simply can't trust that I can take care of myself. Most of me resents this, but a tiny part of me feels soothed by his protectiveness.

"I just want you to be safe, Audrey," he whispers.

I nod, the memories piercing my heart. "I know. I love you, dad."

He sighs, shaking his head. "God, damn it. Fine. Give me something. Talk me out of this. Give me a promise. Something."

This surprises me. I look over at him. "Next time, I'll let the male volunteers handle conflicts among the guests. Next time, I'll stay out of the dorms unless I have a man with me."

He gives me a look. "It doesn't have to be a man."

"The church says it does," I reply, a tiny bit of a smile curling onto my lips.

He shakes his head, chuckling. "Of course they do. How many hours are you doing now?"

"Twenty a week," I reply.

"Stick to ten? For me and my sanity?" he asks.

I look over at him, considering this. "Fine. Thanks, dad."

"You're welcome. But the next time I get a call from a stranger telling me I have to come up to Portland because one of the people you feed injured you, I'm pulling the plug on the whole Mission thing," he warns me.

I consider this. "I think I'd be okay with that." I pause. "What made you change your mind?"

He gives me a small smile. "Just the fact that I was trying to talk my daughter out of feeding the hungry. Ridiculous. I'm so proud of you, Audrey. I just... I need to know you're safe."

"I will be," I say. "I promise."

Ms. Harper returns with breakfast. Eggs and bacon for all of us. The bacon is perfectly crispy, though not burnt, and there is something magical about Ms. Harper's eggs. She's a sorcerer with them.

Ms. Harper and my dad get to know each other. The dynamic is so charming I find myself grinning as I eat. She tells him about her "no-good" ex-husband and job as a bartender at a club a few blocks away. My dad tells her about our hometown of Roseburg, Oregon, a tiny, rural logging town nestled against I-5 just two hours above the California border. He recounts how he went from a job working the actual logging mill to a much cozier administration role.

Ms. Harper has disappeared with the dirty dishes, get-well wishes in her wake, when there's another knock at the door. My dad looks through the peephole, then his brow furrows as he opens the door.

It's a Portland police officer. I recognize her as one of the ones who usually responds to calls we make about combative or thieving guests at the Mission. I remember her name to be Laria Espinoza. Such a beautiful name.

"Hello. Could I talk to Audrey?" Officer Espinoza asks, casting a glance to me.

"Dad, she's cool," I say, waving. "How can I help you, Officer?"

My dad steps aside to let her in. I notice that he waited for my say-so, and this makes me happy.

"Hey, Audrey. How are you feeling, girl?" Officer Espinoza asks, smiling at me as she walks over to my bedside.

"A lot better," I say with a smile.

"Good. Rest up. We need Portland's future mayor sharp and healed up," she says with a grin. I roll my eyes good-naturedly, but we both recognize that she's here for business.

"We need to know if you're going to press charges on Leonard Wise," she tells me.

"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head, repulsed by the idea.

Officer Espinoza pauses. I see my dad staring at me, aghast. "Is that your final answer?" Officer Espinoza asks slowly.

"No, it's not! Audrey, you can't be serious," my dad says.

"He was high. He needs treatment and therapy, not jail time," I reply.

"If he hit you, what else will he do? This isn't just about you, Audrey. What about the other people who work at the Mission? Or at other shelters around the city?" my dad asks. He's nearly hysterical with me. "For crying out loud, Audrey..."

"Audrey, I will tell you that I will speak to the prosecutor about your recommendations for rehabilitative measures instead of punitive ones. Your role in the community as a volunteer and a social services major, as well as your relationship to Lenny and the fact that you're the victim of the crime, mean that your wishes will pull a lot of weight," Officer Espinoza says.

She can't promise he won't get jail time, so I won't ask her to. But the idea still troubles me.

"Audrey, I read the report. What if he had hit Beth Connelly? What if he might still, in the future?" Officer Espinoza says softly. "Or someone like her, at a different shelter in the city? What if it's just a girl walking home from the college who looks at him wrong? He needs to understand that he crossed a line."

"If he gets charged with this, he'll never be able to stay in another shelter," I say, hating the thought of anyone left to freeze on the concrete sidewalks when there are warm, empty beds available.

"Audrey, you and I both know that Lenny will weasel his way into somewhere. Not your Mission, not anymore, but he won't be out of resources," Officer Espinoza tells me.

"Audrey, please. Listen to me. Press charges," my dad begs.

I think of Beth's fear. Her tears. I think of the anger that gripped me. I think of how shamelessly Lenny stole from Evan, who was also out of luck and resources. Almost literally kicking someone when they're down.

I think of how heartbroken Evan would have been if Lenny had successfully stolen his equipment.

"I'll press charges," I say solemnly, nodding.

My dad sighs in relief. "Thank you!"

Officer Espinoza nods. "This is the right choice, Audrey. And I'll communicate your opinions very clearly to the prosecutor. I'll make sure you get updated on the case, too."

I nod, guilt filling me. "Thank you."

And she leaves. I'm glad she does. I'm just centimeters away from recanting my wish to press charges, wondering what hell I've just sentenced Lenny to.

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