Every Four Years

Age Twenty

Today’s the day.

The day I open Haven.

I’ve spent the last two years of my life building toward this moment.

Though really, it’s been eight years in the making.

One year after I met Adrian, I started planning my escape. By then, I knew exactly who he was — and what kind of empire I’d stepped into that night in the alleyway. The man I’d tackled hadn’t been a mugger; he was one of Adrian’s dealers. And Adrian himself? He was no hero.

I learned about the fights, the rackets, the money that flowed like blood through the cracks of the city. And I wanted no part of it.

Still, I made a deal. I promised Adrian I’d fight for him until the day I turned eighteen. In return, he’d feed me, house me, and train me. I promised him I’d never lose — and I promised myself that when the clock ran out, I’d walk away and never look back.

So I trained harder than anyone. While the others smoked and swaggered, I studied. Adrian hired a tutor to homeschool me in the gym’s back office. I’d recite multiplication tables while sparring, the periodic table while ducking punches. It sounds ridiculous, but it worked — muscle memory and mental math are surprisingly compatible.

By the time I turned sixteen, I was his main event. The odds were always against me: small, female, the underdog in every fight. Which made it perfect. Because I didn’t just win prize money — I bet on myself. And I never lost a bet.

By the time I walked away, I’d made enough to buy a small apartment in a better part of London and lease an entire building — the one that would become Haven.

My charity. My sanctuary. My way of giving back what I never had.

Haven isn’t just a shelter. It’s a safe place for anyone who needs one — homeless, abused, lost, forgotten. A place where you can breathe, heal, and rebuild.

We’ll offer food, accommodation, legal advice, medical care, job training, even financial help. Not just survival — recovery.

Everything I needed when I was twelve and alone.

Everything no one gave me.

⸻

Grace’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Are you ready?”

I grin. “I’ve been ready my whole life.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Ha! Please,” she says, bumping my shoulder. “If it weren’t for me, you’d have opened a year ago.”

“You know that’s not true,” I say. “You’re my rock. There’s no Haven without you.”

We share a look — the kind that only comes after everything has been burned down and rebuilt from the ashes.

I met Grace not long after I left Adrian’s world behind. She worked at a little coffee shop a block from my new apartment. I practically lived there. After years spent in gyms and underground rings, that café felt like another planet — the clatter of cups, the smell of espresso, people laughing without fear.

Grace was always behind the counter, hair tied up, eyes tired but kind. I’d stay until closing, just sitting, reading, existing. Eventually, she’d sit with me while she cleaned up. We became friends without really meaning to.

Grace smirks. “If it weren’t for my drama, you would’ve got the lease on that first place.”

“Pfft,” I say, waving her off. “This one’s better. And now I’ve got you by my side to run it. We’re unstoppable.”

Grace laughs. “It’s weird, you know? How different my life is now. From living in my own personal hell to working for my best friend on something good.”

“Working with, not for,” I correct. “We’re partners in crime, you and me.”

“Seriously,” she says softly, “I still thank my lucky stars you chose my coffee shop that day. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

I roll my eyes. “We’ve talked about this, Grace. You don’t owe me anything. Just live. That’s thanks enough.”

I glance at my watch. “Now come on — it’s time.”

It’s 8:00 a.m. The first official opening of Haven.

Grace clicks a few keys on her laptop to update the website — Now Open.

I flip the light switch, flooding the lobby in warm, golden light. The sign above the door hums to life: Haven.

I wait for the moment to feel big and cinematic, but instead it’s quiet. Peaceful.

“Well,” I say, “that was… anticlimactic.”

Pop!

Grace grins, holding a bottle of champagne. “Oh, come on. You didn’t really expect a line of people at the door, did you? You’re the one who said word of mouth would be our best advertising. We just have to be patient. Once we help one person, more will come.”

She’s right. They will.

I take the glass she offers, the bubbles catching the morning light.

“To us,” I say.

“To Haven,” she echoes.

“And to whoever walks through those doors first.”

We clink glasses.

For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for the next fight.

I feel like I’ve already won.