CHAPTER 3 — "CHAPTER 3 — "YOU CAME HOME"
Morning light filters softly through the curtains when I open my eyes. The room feels warmer than last night, but the heaviness in my chest hasn't fully faded. The quiet beeping of the medical devices fills the silence.
A gentle knock interrupts the stillness.
Before I can respond, the door opens slightly, and a woman steps inside.
Her brown hair frames her face softly, brushing her shoulders, and her green eyes shimmer with something fragile—hope, fear, love, pain—all tangled together. She looks at me like she's afraid I might vanish if she blinks.
"Are you awake, sweetheart?" she asks, voice trembling.
I nod, unable to speak.
She approaches slowly, as if each step might shatter the moment. When she sits beside me, she doesn't touch me, not yet. She just stares with shaking hands and a smile that's trying not to fall apart.
"You look… so much like when you were little," she whispers.
I don't know how to respond. I don't remember her. I don't remember anything from before the kidnapping.
"Do you remember… anything at all?" she asks, voice cracking.
I shake my head.
Her breath stutters. Pain flickers across her expression, but she still forces a trembling smile.
"It's alright. You're alive. You're here. That's enough."
Alive.
My chest tightens painfully. I don't understand how someone can say it like it means the world.
"I… I'm sorry," I whisper, though I don't even understand why.
She blinks. "Sorry? Why, baby?"
"I don't remember you."
Tears gather in her lashes, slipping down her cheeks silently. She presses a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking. But she's smiling—broken, relieved, overflowing with emotion.
"You don't need to remember. You just need to be here."
She hesitates, then asks softly:
"May I… hold you?"
My throat closes. I've never been asked that before. Not in my past life. Not in this one.
I nod slowly.
She wraps her arms around me gently, like she's afraid I'll break. Her warmth sinks into me, unfamiliar and overwhelming. My fingers grip the blanket, and for a moment, I can't breathe past the tightness in my chest.
"My baby," she whispers, voice trembling against my hair. "My precious boy… you came home."
My eyes sting. I don't cry, but the feeling is there… sitting heavy behind my ribs.
"I'm not… used to this," I whisper.
"I know," she murmurs softly. "We'll go slowly. We have time now."
Her arms tighten just slightly, and I close my eyes—letting myself fall into the feeling of being held.
For the first time in two lifetimes, someone holds me like I matter.
Morning light filters softly through the curtains when I open my eyes. The room feels warmer than last night, but the heaviness in my chest hasn't fully faded. The quiet beeping of the medical devices fills the silence.
A gentle knock interrupts the stillness.
Before I can respond, the door opens slightly, and a woman steps inside.
Her brown hair frames her face softly, brushing her shoulders, and her green eyes shimmer with something fragile—hope, fear, love, pain—all tangled together. She looks at me like she's afraid I might vanish if she blinks.
"Are you awake, sweetheart?" she asks, voice trembling.
I nod, unable to speak.
She approaches slowly, as if each step might shatter the moment. When she sits beside me, she doesn't touch me, not yet. She just stares with shaking hands and a smile that's trying not to fall apart.
"You look… so much like when you were little," she whispers.
I don't know how to respond. I don't remember her. I don't remember anything from before the kidnapping.
"Do you remember… anything at all?" she asks, voice cracking.
I shake my head.
Her breath stutters. Pain flickers across her expression, but she still forces a trembling smile.
"It's alright. You're alive. You're here. That's enough."
Alive.
My chest tightens painfully. I don't understand how someone can say it like it means the world.
"I… I'm sorry," I whisper, though I don't even understand why.
She blinks. "Sorry? Why, baby?"
"I don't remember you."
Tears gather in her lashes, slipping down her cheeks silently. She presses a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking. But she's smiling—broken, relieved, overflowing with emotion.
"You don't need to remember. You just need to be here."
She hesitates, then asks softly:
"May I… hold you?"
My throat closes. I've never been asked that before. Not in my past life. Not in this one.
I nod slowly.
She wraps her arms around me gently, like she's afraid I'll break. Her warmth sinks into me, unfamiliar and overwhelming. My fingers grip the blanket, and for a moment, I can't breathe past the tightness in my chest.
"My baby," she whispers, voice trembling against my hair. "My precious boy… you came home."
My eyes sting. I don't cry, but the feeling is there… sitting heavy behind my ribs.
"I'm not… used to this," I whisper.
"I know," she murmurs softly. "We'll go slowly. We have time now."
Her arms tighten just slightly, and I close my eyes—letting myself fall into the feeling of being held.
For the first time in two lifetimes, someone holds me like I matter.