"You're in good health."

The doctor scribbled something on his clipboard, and out of reflex, I leaned over his shoulder in a futile attempt to read it, only to remember—again—I couldn't. The realization stung, the limitations of my life so glaring now in this new environment.

I sighed, my gaze drifting to my hands resting in my lap as the doctor droned on about things I didn't fully understand. His words were a blur, something about recovery and next steps, nothing that seemed to matter until he said,

"The man who informed us of you being in the forest has come to see you. I believe you know him—Ben Camden?"

My head snapped up, meeting his eyes as he unknowingly answered a question I didn't realize I had. Ben had told them where I was. He was there, not by chance, but because he had been waiting for me.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes as the weight of this sank in. I quickly looked away, nodding to the doctor, praying he wouldn't comment on my sudden, fragile emotional state.

My heart pounded faster, the familiar beat growing sharper as the doctor left to fetch Ben. My stomach tightened into a knot, a deep sense of unease creeping up as I waited. There was something different about the thought of seeing him now.

Before the fire—before the woods—relying on anyone but myself had always felt foreign and uncomfortable. Now, I found myself at the mercy of strangers, with nowhere to hide. Even though I was beginning to feel a sense of ease around Ben, he remained, in so many ways, a stranger.

For the first time since I'd arrived here, a tear slipped down my cheek, unbidden. Just one. I couldn't let myself break down. Not now. If I let go—if I allowed the dam to burst—I wouldn't be able to stop. My composure and the slivers of dignity I clung to were the only things keeping me from crumbling.

I felt my insides twisting, the pain of holding it all in making me tremble. A sob threatened to break free, but I bit it back, shutting my eyes and pressing my lips together. 

Hopeless despair nudged at the edges of my resolve, but I pushed through, forcing myself to feel... nothing. A dull, cold numbness that I'd become far too familiar with.

That last bit of numbness always lingered, like a ghost, clinging to the edges of every thought. But I focused on my breathing, willing myself to suppress the tears that threatened to spill.

The window to my right was my only reprieve in these last few days. The white walls around me were suffocating, a sterile prison, but through that window, I saw life—a world still spinning beyond the cage I found myself in.

I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes trying to imagine the sound of birds singing outside reminding me of my not-so-distant past. The trees swaying in the breeze stirred something inside me, a memory of safety that had long since been lost.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and my eyes were open and instantly drawn to a splash of yellow. Bright flowers, vibrant against the pale room, caught my attention immediately. Then I saw the man holding them.

Ben.

His face was soft, his expression a mixture of concern and warmth as he stepped cautiously toward me.

"Hey, miss, how are you holding up?"

His gentle voice dispelled the fear that had gripped me moments before. The knot in my stomach began to unravel, my anxiety easing.

At that moment, I realized—I had nothing to fear from Ben.

I don't know what possessed me to act so strangely, but the word slipped out before I could stop it.

"Hello."

Ben's expression softened, a smile replacing the concern that had creased his brow. He stepped forward, extending the bright flowers toward me. I accepted them, the vibrant yellow a stark contrast to the sterile room around us.

His eyes searched mine as he asked gently, "Are you okay?"

I couldn't find my voice. My throat felt tight, my ability to speak buried beneath layers of anxiety. Instead, I nodded, my movements small but deliberate.

Ben seemed to understand, giving me a moment before continuing. "I, uh... wanted to ask you something."

He hesitated briefly, as though choosing his words carefully. "Lilly—my wife—and I, we've talked about it, and... we'd like to take you home with us. If that's something you'd be okay with."

I blinked, processing his offer. The idea of going home with Ben and his wife was comforting, but also terrifying. I hadn't lived with anyone ever.

After a beat, I gave another small nod, my emotions tangled in a mix of fear and relief. Ben's smile grew, gentle and reassuring, as if to tell me it would all be okay.

Minutes ticked by as Ben and the doctor exchanged words I barely registered. The weight of my thoughts was too heavy, drowning out whatever conversation passed between them.

A warm hand gently touched my arm, pulling me from my haze. I looked up at Ben as he gave a soft tug, his eyes encouraging me to stand. It took me a moment to realize what he wanted.

With unsteady legs, I pushed myself up from the bed, making sure to tuck the doll I'd been hiding under my arm,as his hands supported me as I swayed slightly

My legs trembled beneath me, unused to holding my own weight after so much time lying down. Fear flickered inside me—what if I fell?

I reached out instinctively, my fingers gripping Ben's arm for stability. He held on to me in return, steady and patient as he guided me toward the door.

Before we reached it, I hesitated. The dress. Pretoria had brought me something clean, something new. I didn't want to leave in the thin, drab hospital gown I'd been given. I gestured toward the small bag on the chair where the dress still lay folded.

Ben followed my glance, understanding instantly. "Go ahead, change. I'll wait for you."

With his gentle nod of encouragement, I shuffled toward the bathroom, clutching the dress in my arms like it was something precious.

Inside the small, dimly lit space, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, the coolness of the tiles grounding me. I unfolded the dress slowly, its vibrant colors startling in the sterile room. It was more beautiful than I'd remembered, rich shades of blue that seemed to shimmer under the flickering fluorescent light.

Slipping out of the hospital gown, I stepped into the dress, the fabric soft against my skin. It felt alien, luxurious in a way I'd never experienced before.

Once it was on, I hesitated before turning toward the mirror.

When I did, I almost didn't recognize the person staring back at me. My long, dark hair—once tangled and matted—now hung clean and brushed down my back, smooth and shining.

The vibrant dress clung to me in a way that made me look... different. The woman in the reflection wasn't the same person who had lived in the woods, dirty and alone.

This person looked fragile but alive, as if there was still some hope left to find.

I traced a hand down my hair, over the neckline of the dress, and frowned slightly. The image felt foreign, like I was wearing someone else's skin.

But still, for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't look so lost.

A knock on the door snapped me from my thoughts.

Ben's voice was soft through the door. "Are you ready?"

I took a breath and nodded to my reflection, even though it didn't feel like me yet. "Yes," I whispered to myself before opening the door and stepping out.

Ben's eyes widened for just a second before he smiled. "You look... well, you look great." His voice was warm, and I found myself holding on to those words as we moved toward the door.

After walking down a short hallway, we came to a glass door, completely transparent and gleaming under the overhead lights. As we approached, the door slid open on its own with a soft hiss. I sucked in a sharp breath, stumbling back in alarm.

Ben chuckled gently behind me, his grip on my arms tightening just enough to keep me steady. "Calm down, Miss. It's just a door, it's not gonna hurt you."

My heart raced as I stared at the strange, unnatural thing. Doors didn't move on their own, not in the world I knew. It took a few minutes and plenty of coaxing from both Ben and the doctor to convince me to step past it.

With more hesitation than I'd care to admit, I finally edged forward and crossed the threshold. As soon as I stepped outside, the sun greeted me, washing over my skin with its warmth.

The fresh air filled my lungs, carrying the earthy scent of dirt and the faint hum of wildlife. It was familiar, grounding, and for the first time in days, the caged feeling I'd been drowning in started to ease.

The open sky stretched above me, and I closed my eyes briefly, letting it all sink in—the freedom, the space, the sounds that weren't the sterile quiet of that white room.

Ben gently ushered me toward a vehicle parked just outside the hospital's entrance. It was sleek and unfamiliar, but I didn't care.

All I wanted was to leave.

We circled around the car, and Ben, ever patient, moved to open the passenger door. His hand was there to guide me as I climbed in, careful and slow, sinking into the seat.

The soft fabric cradled me, and as he closed the door, I exhaled, feeling the last of that trapped sensation slip away.

The drive to Ben's residence was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. The sensation of the car moving beneath me, the vibrations coursing through the seat, and the odd rhythm of the tires over the paved roads—it was unsettling, but strangely not entirely unpleasant.

For once, I wasn't walking. I wasn't running, hiding, or navigating dense woods. I was being carried somewhere new, and I had no idea what lay ahead.

Ben didn't speak, and I was grateful for it. He seemed to sense that I needed the silence, to gather myself and take in the strangeness of the world passing by. My eyes traced the scenery outside the window, devouring it as if it might disappear if I blinked.

We passed through the heart of the small town, where the roads were lined with buildings that seemed both old and well-worn.

I caught sight of the town hall standing tall in the center, its stone facade weathered by time. It seemed like a monument of the past, a pillar in the middle of the square where the people went about their lives. 

I could see a few figures moving about its steps, too far away to make out, but enough to make the place seem important, like it held a power over this small town.

Beyond the hall, small shops dotted the main road—bakeries, a quaint little store with handmade goods displayed in the window, and a barbershop with an old-fashioned sign swinging in the breeze.

The windows were open, and I glimpsed people inside, chatting, working, laughing. It was nothing like the isolation I had known, where my days were filled with survival and solitude.

This was life. Ordinary life.

The houses we passed were old but charming, with ivy crawling up their brick walls and wooden shutters that were slightly crooked. There was a lived-in feeling to the town, a warmth to the way everything was nestled so close together, like the buildings leaned on each other for support.

And then, as we left the heart of town behind, the landscape opened up. Fields stretched out in the distance, the green contrasting with the worn roads we traveled. The sky seemed bigger here, the clouds lazily drifting in the afternoon sun.

Ben drove with an easy calmness, the hum of the engine the only sound breaking the stillness inside the car. I stared out, my thoughts jumbled, but the unsettling feeling of being in the car slowly faded as the quiet weight of this new world filled me.

Finally, we pulled into the driveway of a quaint, two-story house tucked neatly among a few others on the outskirts of town.

It had a wooden porch with a few potted plants scattered about, and standing there, waiting, was a woman. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were focused on us, a welcoming smile tugging at her lips.

As I stepped out of the car, I caught my first real look at her—the woman from the picture. Lily, as Ben had called her. Except, she was older now, with lines of time etched softly into her face, but still recognizable.

She stood at the top of the stairs, trying to meet us halfway, though her movements were slow and deliberate. Ben quickly moved past me, his long strides taking him up the steps to her side. His hand instinctively found hers, his arm wrapping around her waist as if to shield her from the strain.

"Sweetie, you shouldn't be on your feet. The doctor sai—" Ben's voice trailed off as Lily interrupted, her tone gentle but firm.

"I can't live the rest of my life in this house, Benny. I can still do some things, it's okay."

Her face held a mixture of determination and frustration, a look that said she'd heard these concerns too many times before. Though Ben looked reluctant, his hand hovering as if ready to catch her, he didn't protest when she gently pushed him away.

With a wobble in her step, Lily approached me. There was something warm and almost magnetic in her determination to reach me on her own. Before I could react or process the moment, I found myself wrapped in her embrace.

Her strength surprised me. She held me firmly, not like someone fragile, but with the kind of force that came from deep love and care.

The sudden closeness caught me off guard, and I stiffened, unsure of how to respond. After a moment, she pulled back, her hands still resting on my shoulders as she looked me over, her eyes searching my face with deep concern.

"Oh, you poor thing," she said, her voice soft and motherly.

I felt exposed under her gaze, as if she could see all the cracks in me, the years of wear and tear that life had etched onto my soul.

Her eyes traveled down the length of my body, taking in my thin frame, my hollow cheeks. I had nothing to hide behind here, no woods to retreat into.

"You're so skinny," she said, shaking her head. "Come on, honey, I've made stew and cornbread for dinner."

Without giving me much room for response, she guided me inside, her hands gently but insistently ushering me forward.

There was no hesitation, no question—just an overwhelming sense of belonging, like I was being folded into the warmth of a home I didn't know I needed.

Ben trailed behind us, his eyes still watching Lily with concern, but his lips curled into a faint smile.

I could feel their bond, a quiet but powerful connection that made me ache with an unfamiliar longing. I wasn't used to this kind of warmth, the way they seemed to fit together, even in their quiet disagreements.

As I stepped into the house, the smell of something savory and rich filled the air—stew, just as Lily had promised. The warmth of the home wrapped around me, much like her embrace, and for the first time in a long while, I felt something close to safe.

Lily gently guided me through the doorway, and I was immediately enveloped by a warmth that seemed to seep from every corner of the house.

The space was bathed in earthy tones—shades of browns and deep greens, the walls and furniture blending together in a way that made the room feel both comforting and intimate.

A faint scent of woodsmoke lingered in the air, thanks to the fire crackling softly in the fireplace, adding to the room's cozy atmosphere.

In the far corner, a table was set, overflowing with food. More food than I had ever seen in one place—rich, vibrant dishes that looked as though they belonged in a painting.

My stomach, long neglected, growled loudly at the sight. A low chuckle came from behind me, and I turned to see Ben grinning as Lily, even more determined now, bustled about, clearly intent on getting me fed.

Before I knew it, I was seated at the table, my chair barely touching the floor before a mountain of food appeared in front of me. Steaming stew, thick slices of cornbread, and vegetables cooked in ways I had never imagined. The colors alone were a feast for my eyes, and my mouth watered in response.

"Here you are, honeybun," Lily said, placing the last of the dishes down with a satisfied smile. She moved to the chair across from me and sat, her gaze warm but observant.

Ben took his seat beside her, and soon, the three of us were gathered at the table, though it felt like the entire room's attention was focused solely on me.

Why did this feel so foreign, so overwhelming? My hand hovered over the spoon, hesitating. Yet Lily's gentle but insistent gaze made it impossible to refuse. I didn't want to disappoint her, and the eagerness in her eyes made me feel a deep sense of obligation.

With a small breath, I picked up the spoon and took my first bite.