The black Mercedes glided smoothly through the dusk, taking me back to Hisashi. Usually on the ride home, all I thought of was seeing my son, but tonight, the episode with Jansen—and indeed the aftermath—weighed heavy on my mind.

"Is everything okay, ma'am?" Clint's eyes watched me in the rear-view mirror.

"Yes, fine."

"I was a little surprised when a gentleman answered the phone."

I avoided telling him what happened at practice because Emmy would hear about it before I got back to school the next day, and Jude and Jansen would most probably find themselves in the dean's office. And as I'd told Lincoln, I didn't want to get branded a troublemaker.

"Oh, I got done early, so we were just chatting before I left. I was playing Schubert, and he likes to listen when he's finished work."

"He said he was the janitor?"

"Yes, I see him cleaning most evenings."

We lapsed into silence for the rest of the ride, and thankfully traffic was light. When I arrived home, Sofia and Hisashi were playing on a multi-coloured mat spread out in the living room, although Hisashi was laughing rather than matching up the shapes like he was supposed to. They both looked surprised when I walked through the door.

"Is everything okay?" Sofia asked. "I wasn't expecting you home so early. I haven't even started dinner yet."

"It's a surprise to me too."

"Did something happen?"

I'd never had a girlfriend I could confide in before, but I needed to talk to someone about the mess at school. Who else was there? Emmy wasn't the kind of person I could call up for a chat, and besides, Sofia deserved to know the details because what happened at Holborn affected her as well.

"Why don't we order a pizza and I'll tell you about it?"

"Sounds good to me. You go and change, and I'll get Hisashi's dinner ready so you can spend some time with him while we wait for the food to arrive."

What would I do without her? I hoped I'd never have to find out.

Usually, I treasured time spent with my son, but that evening, feeding Hisashi took longer than usual because he decided he hated carrots. Why tonight, of all nights? I tried once more to get the spoon in his mouth, but he turned his head away.

"Please, little one. Carrots are good for you."

He glared at me as if they were poisonous. So tiny, yet he'd mastered that look of disdain perfectly.

"Your daddy loved carrots."

Even that didn't work. I was close to tears when Sofia gently took the spoon out of my hand. The frustrations of an awful week were catching up with me.

"How about I finish feeding him? I've got some melon slices if he won't eat carrots today. We can try the carrots again tomorrow."

"It should be me. I should be helping him with his dinner."

"You've had a long day, and not a good one by the sound of it. Why don't you order our dinner instead?"

Feeling utterly inadequate, I did as she suggested and dialled for pizza. Every day, I felt more homesick, and every hour, I questioned what I was doing in Boston. Face it, I wasn't cut out for this world. I slumped on a chair as Sofia did what I couldn't and convinced my son he loved carrots. Even though she was helping, the bond they'd so obviously formed made me feel worse than ever.

"I'll put him to bed," I said once he'd finished the last spoonful.

"Are you sure? I don't mind."

"No, I'll do it."

Was Hisashi a baby or an octopus? I could have sworn on the latter as I changed his diaper then attempted to get him into his pyjamas. Arms and legs flailed everywhere, but I finally got him dressed. Even the simplest of chores seemed like insurmountable problems these days. And then he gave me another challenge.

"Corn," he wailed from his crib as I snuck out of the room.

Corn? Was he still hungry? Once Sofia took over, he'd eaten even more than usual. I scurried back and tried to quiet him with a cuddly dog. The tatty toy was his favourite, but today it only made him screech.

"Cooooooorn." He pointed at the door.

"Corn? Why do you want corn? You already ate carrots."

At times like this, I missed my mother and her advice more than ever. This child-rearing thing was so much harder than I'd ever imagined. Hisashi's cries got louder as I tried a furry dragon and then a fish.

Sofia poked her head around the door. "Everything okay?"

"He wants corn. Do we have any corn?"

"He means the unicorn Bradley sent him. Hold on, I'll find it."

And she was right. The second Hisashi got his tiny fingers on the coveted toy, he burrowed under the blanket and went to sleep.

Once again, I'd proven myself to be a hopeless parent.

I tried to put my woes out of my mind as Giuseppe's delivered a piping hot pepperoni with extra peppers. Emmy had introduced me to the pleasures of their extra-deep crusts when she came for my audition, and I hadn't been able to resist their lure. After spending half of my life cooking for others, having someone else bring my food was a guilty pleasure, one I'd indulged in every week since I arrived in Boston, although I usually waited until I was alone at the weekends.

We spread out the pizza plus a side order of chicken wings on the breakfast bar in the kitchen and hopped up onto the high stools. In between mouthfuls topped with gooey cheese, I told Sofia about my day.

"Wow. Jansen sounds like a real asshole."

"He's just dedicated. It's only a problem because he wants to inflict his practice regime on everyone else."

When I stepped back and looked at the situation rationally, I couldn't be too harsh on him. In Japan, his work ethic would have been applauded, but I wanted my life to be about more than the daily grind.

"Dedicated or not, he shouldn't be pushing you and Jude around like that, even if Jude does need to put a bit more effort in."

"It'll be easier once my own piano arrives. I'll be able to escape home and avoid him."

"At least you've got this Lincoln guy looking out for you in the meantime."

I'd described the way he stepped in when Jansen got difficult, but not how he'd held my hand afterwards. I hadn't got my feelings about that straight in my own mind, and this whole confiding-in-others thing was new to me. One step at a time.

"I know. Let's hope Jansen got the message. I don't think I could stand the stress of him every day I need to practice at Holborn."

In my room that evening, I caught a glimpse of my silhouette in the mirror fixed to the wall beside the closet. With all the hurry to move in, I hadn't got around to taking it down yet, and in daylight, I'd trained myself to close my eyes as I walked past. It was bad enough having to look at the scars on my wrists every day without seeing the crisscross of cuts that marred my body as well. Each one brought back a memory, every thin line a reminder of a night worse than the last.

While most of the guards had given up on me by the time I turned twenty, one persisted for two more years. Every time he raped me, he carved into my body, his hand clamped over my mouth to stop me from waking everyone else with my screams.

"I am the artist," he'd whisper as the blade flicked over my skin. "And you are my masterpiece."

I was an abomination.

Over the years I'd become adept at doing things in the dark—showering, getting dressed, even sex. Hisashi's father never saw me naked, not once. He knew why and never pushed it. We'd both borne the scars from that place.

Tonight, I slipped on a long nightgown and burrowed under the quilt, craving sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I played a game of Russian roulette, dreams versus nightmares, and I'd risk the bullet because dreams were the only place I still saw the man I loved. Would tonight be a good night or a bad one? Would I wake up screaming? Or see his handsome face once more?

I laid my head back on the fluffy pillow, concentrating on my breathing, a meditation I performed every night. Usually it helped me to drift off, but tonight my mind stayed busy with a replay of earlier events. Jude's refusal to practice. Jansen forcing me back to the piano. Lincoln standing up for me, holding my hand, making me feel safe. How could I thank him properly for what he'd done? Sitting in his room earlier, I'd gone all tongue-tied, and my paltry efforts at showing my appreciation were inadequate.

After twenty minutes of fidgeting, I gave in and snatched my phone off the nightstand. The picture of Hisashi on the screen cast a soft peach glow over the room before I called up the contacts menu and scrolled through it. Linc. Those four letters set my heart pounding, and I felt his hand on mine again. The apartment was cool, but I pushed the quilt down as a hot flash ran through me, setting my nerve endings on fire. How could a name on a screen have such an effect on me?

My fingers trembled as I tried to come up with a suitable message.

Akari: Dear Lincoln, I wish to thank you...

Scrap that. Far too formal.

Akari: Hi Linc, thanks for helping me out tonight. I wasn't sure I'd ever get away otherwise!

Nope. Too bland. I might as well have been thanking a store assistant for handing me my bags.

Akari: Linc, I didn't thank you properly earlier for helping me because I wasn't sure what to say. You've probably noticed I'm not so good at dealing with strangers. If you hadn't stepped in, I'd still be at Holborn now, asleep over the keys while Jansen played on without me. I truly am grateful for what you did, and I hope it didn't ruin your evening too much. Akari.

I read it back quickly, muttering to myself, and it still sounded superficial but I didn't know what else to write. Before I chickened out altogether, I pressed send.

Tossing the phone onto the spare pillow next to me, I snuggled back under the covers, the warmth from earlier replaced by a sudden chill. Was it appropriate to text a man so late at night? It wasn't as if I'd ever had experience with this. I went back to my measured breathing, but it didn't help, and when the phone buzzed, I snatched it up.

Linc: My evening could never be ruined by spending time with you. Sleep tight. L.

I read his words ten times over, searching for a meaning that probably wasn't there. Eventually, I did as instructed and drifted off, still clutching the phone in my hand, as though it would bring me closer to the man who wrote the words blinking on the screen.

Hisashi's father didn't come to me that night, but somebody else visited my dreams instead.

I shook my head as hot water pummelled me in the morning, trying to clear my mind of a Hisashi-induced headache and thoughts I shouldn't be having about a man I barely knew.

My totally inappropriate dream had been interrupted at three a.m. by Hisashi's cries on the baby monitor. I'd scrambled out of bed and changed his diaper, but he didn't quiet down until four, and after that, I couldn't get back to sleep again. Things didn't get any easier when I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater then flicked on the light, only to see the message icon on my phone blinking. A message from Lincoln? Or Linc, as he'd called himself? What did he want?

Fingers shaking, I opened it and found a picture of a puppy. The caption read Smile :) Let them know that today you're stronger than you were yesterday.

I couldn't help it—my mouth curved into a grin as I slipped my feet into a pair of ballet pumps, happy not just because Linc's words were inspiring, but because he'd woken up and sent me such a sweet message.

Those words kept me going through my classes in the morning, all the way to the evening when I trudged to the practice room again. Jansen and Jude were already there when I arrived, Jude looking about as thrilled as I felt.

My heart sank as I took my seat at the piano, but when I lifted the lid above the keys, I found a Post-it note stuck to the inside.

Don't forget to smile! :)

Again, my lips twitched, earning me a curious glance from Jude before I turned away to get the sheet music from my bag. No, I didn't need it—I already knew the piece by heart—but having it there gave me an excuse not to look at people. Yes, I was that much of a coward.

With Lincoln's note above the keys for me to see every time I glanced down, three hours of Jansen's barbs went faster than I'd dared to hope. The only disappointment was that when I left, there was no sign of Linc himself. I'd wanted to thank him for his messages, and... Well, I'd just hoped to see him.

All the way home, I tried to think of the right response to send, but when the car pulled up outside my home, I still hadn't managed it. Then the phone vibrated in my hand.

Linc: Got held up tonight—all the excitement of a blocked toilet. Hope things went all right with Il Duce and the slacker and you managed to keep smiling. L.

He'd done it again. I giggled, even though Mussolini had been Italian and Jansen was Dutch. On impulse, I paused in the hallway to snap a picture of myself smiling and sent it before I convinced myself it was a bad idea.

By the time I reached Hisashi's bedroom to kiss him goodnight, I'd got a photo back of Linc displaying a row of perfect white teeth, together with a message.

You've made me smile too. Sleep well.

That night, I did.