Your Presence Is An Open Door Novels & Stories

he said. "You were the door," I said. "For me. The thing I told Sera and the thing I say to everyone who arrives at the alliance building in whatever state they are in. The door being open when you need it. You were that for me before I had language for it." I held his gaze. "Before I understood that doors could work that way. You walked into a forest and found me at a border and carried me home and the door was open from that moment. And I have been walking through it ever since."

When she finished, she looked up at me. “And the sentencing?” “Life imprisonment,” I answered quietly. She exhaled slowly. Not relief. Closure. Jessica stirred behind her. For a moment neither of us moved. Then she stepped aside. “Come in,” she said. It was not an invitation to her bed. It was an invitation to stand in her life properly. I walked inside. No rush. No grabbing. No urgency. Just presence. She closed the door behind me. And this time, there were no shadows between us.

I went to my vanity and took out a burner SIM card. It was wrapped in a note containing a single sentence: "The Neptune, 3 PM tomorrow, Pier 2. A big gift." I walked to the window and passed the note to the man. "Give this to your boss," I whispered. He took it and was gone, melting into the shadows of the garden. I returned to the vanity and looked at my reflection. Sophia. Damien. The game is over. My game has just begun.

"Your door is open?" "Always." He said it simply, the promise that didn't require guarantee. "Even when I'm afraid. Even when I become him for a minute. Even when—" He stopped, kissed her hand, brief, barely, the contact that was also promise. "Even when you close yours. Mine stays open. That's the difference. Between us and them. Between love that needs and love that—" "That waits?" "That chooses." He corrected. "Repeatedly. Without guarantee. Without needing to be needed back. Just—" He stopped, found the word. "Just present. Available. Here, even when it's hard. Especially then."

It looked magical but I knew that it was technology. “I need you to go in here, your fingerprint can open anything, do not open the door for anyone, I can open the door but in case I don’t come back the magic word is “Amo Kim’.” The person at the door has to say it before you open the door. His voice was in whispers and my body quivered. “What do you mean if you don’t come back, come with me.” “Kim, go.” He ordered but I wasn’t going to listen to him.

It is the same pathway as the other one we pass by except we are walking upwards. Sadie walks past me and stops at one house. The moment I followed, she already opened the gray gate where she tells me to walk in. The house is just like the rest: walls covered in white, and the door’s brown. Sadie rummages in her bag and picks up a blue key with daisy prints and pushes it through the keyhole. I hear a faint click when Sadie turns it. She turns to look at me before she opens the door. Our faces are quite close there which turns my cheeks into a shade of pink. Sadie pushes the door slowly, hearing only minimal creaks from the fixture. Sadie stops when the gap is wide enough for us to fit inside

His eyes followed me, brow furrowed. When I reached him, I didn’t stop right away. Instead, I placed my hands on his shoulders. He flinched, just slightly. And that almost made me laugh. I leaned in just enough for my voice to drop, softer now. “My dear husband…” I tilted my head, my gaze locking into his. “Let’s have an open marriage.” Silence. Yes, I would serve him that hot dish first.

"I've been standing in this hallway trying to make myself walk back to my room and my legs won't move." "Then sit down." "That's not what I need to do and you know it." I got out of bed and crossed the room and put my hand on the latch and my fingers were shaking and I pressed my forehead against the door and his breathing was coming through the wood and landing on my skin. "If I open this door," I said. "I know." "There's no taking it back." "I know." "And it doesn't mean I'm staying. It doesn't mean I'm forgiving you. It doesn't mean anything except that I'm opening a door."

He just stands there, waiting—eyes locked on mine. I open the door all the way. “Fine,” I say softly. “Come in.”

Again, words leave my lips with no authority when I say, "He's pulling me away from you." I can feel his presence, almost as if his energy is seeping through the door. The sound of his hand resting on the door handle makes me watch the thing with building anxiety. The door isn't locked, but he doesn't open it. It's as if he can't decide whether to infiltrate or let me speak.