Sanctuary

I had visited Paris only once before while in school.  I wondered how the city could remain so beautiful and vibrant in all the years since I had seen her, when I now felt so old and broken.  My nursing career was over, and love was lost to me.  I arrived at Rose's a puddle of depression, and Rose, my sweet Rose, wrapped me in her arms and whispered words of comfort while I cried on her shoulder.

It was impossible to stay wrecked for too long in Rose's presence and soon I was dry enough that she could show me around her home without worrying about my dripping on the wood floors.  Her house wasn't as big as The Professor's, but it was beautiful.  Like the floors, the walls were paneled in wood, and the whole place reminded me of a kind of church.  It felt a sense of relief here.  Rose's home reflected her calming nature and for me it was, and always would be, a sanctuary.