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Dennis stands up from his desk to greet me, his eyes meeting mine with a blend of professionalism and something softer, something inexplicably kind.
"Lauren," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Dennis. It's nice to meet you."
His touch is firm yet gentle, grounding me for a split second. I wonder if he can sense the nerves buzzing beneath my skin.
"Have a seat," he motions to a chair across his desk.
As I settle down, my eyes roam his office. There's an organized chaos of legal files scattered about, but it doesn't feel overwhelming. Instead, it's oddly comforting.
For the first time in months, I feel like I can breathe. And so, I let myself do just that—breathe – wondering if Dennis Harper might be the sanctuary I didn't know I was seeking.
My eyes meet his, breaking away only when he reaches for a notepad and a pen.
"So, how can I assist you today?" His voice is steady, like the rest of him, making it easier to dive into the story I've told others only in my head.
"I need a restraining order," I say, feeling the weight of each syllable as it leaves my lips. "It's against my ex-boyfriend, Tom."
"Understood," he says, jotting down notes but not losing eye contact. "Could you give me a bit more detail about the situations where you felt in danger?"
Nodding, I recount the first instance, a dinner date gone awry. Tom had accused me of flirting with the waiter, his eyes turning a stormy shade as he gripped my wrist under the table.
I was both stunned and scared, trapped between making a scene and succumbing to his threatening whispers.
"The second time," I continue, "he showed up uninvited when I was out buying some stuff. He created a scene, accusing me of avoiding him. Everyone was looking and talking about us. It was humiliating and frightening."
Dennis' pen rushes, capturing every word.
"And the last time," my voice quivers, but I push through, "he tried to break into my house. He was pounding on the door, yelling that he couldn’t live without me, that I belong to him."
The room is silent for a few moments, save for the last strokes of Dennis' pen against the notepad. Finally, he looks up,
"Thank you for sharing that with me, Lauren. I assure you, we will proceed as quickly as possible to get that restraining order."
A ripple of relief washes over me, but caution holds it at bay. Still, something about Dennis makes me feel just a little bit safer.
Maybe it's the kindness I see in his eyes, eyes that must have seen so many tales of hurt and betrayal yet still hold warmth. Or perhaps it's his broad shoulders and how his beard frames his face, giving him an air of rugged wisdom.
He opens a drawer, takes out a stack of papers, and places them in front of me.
"These are the preliminary documents to fill out. Don't worry; I'll guide you through them."
As he starts explaining the legal jargon, my eyes drift again around his office. The organized chaos of legal files seems even more reassuring now, like a maze designed to trap all the evils of the world, including Tom.
And the atmosphere, still impossibly calm, reminds me that there are sanctuaries in life, places—and people—where we can find refuge, even when our hearts are pounding, and our pasts are catching up with us.
As I finish filling out the last of the forms, I glance up to find Dennis organizing some of his paperwork. That's when my eyes land on a framed photo hanging on his wall—a signed picture of a baseball legend, Babe Ruth. A smile tugs at my lips.
"You're a baseball fan?"
His eyes light up as he follows my gaze to the picture.
"Absolutely. Babe Ruth is one of my heroes, both on and off the field."
"Mine too," I say, my heart doing a little flip.
It's such a small thing, a love for baseball, but it humanizes him further, breaking down the professional barrier for just a moment.
Dennis leans back in his chair, now looking more at ease as well.
