I’m so relieved when Valentino and I go up the stairs and make it to the front door that’s as red as the Times Square glass benches. I pull out the key that I used to scratch Valentino’s name into the bench at the Brooklyn Bridge and unlock the door. We made it. We’re safe. And I’ve brought home a guy for the first time. He might even be the last. “I’m here,” I shout up the stairs.
