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“Hey, April! Oh my God, you’ve been gone for a long time, haven’t you?” one of the passersby says as she stops pushing her stroller.
“Hey, Dani! Yeah … It has been long, hasn’t it?” she replies, scratching her head.
I stand a few feet away, not wanting to intrude, but at the same time, I’m eager to watch this conversation. Not just because it’s my duty to keep the House safe, but also because I want to know what she’s thinking. How she’s feeling. How she’ll react.
“But I’m back now,” April says, and she briefly glances at me again. “Hopefully for good.”
“Well, it’s so nice to see you. We should grab a coffee sometime,” the woman says, handing a toy to her baby.
“Yeah, I’d love that,” April replies with such a cheerful voice.
She’s never sounded like that before, and I’m not sure I like it … or if I’m just jealous.
“See ya soon then,” the woman says, winking. “You still have my number, right?”
April clears her throat and smiles awkwardly. “Yeah, of course. See ya!”
She walks off again, but I can tell from the way she plucks at her own hair that she’s nervous. It must’ve been a long time since she last had a normal conversation with anyone. This is why it makes it even more special. It’s like she finally came out of that cocoon she was hiding in and has now turned into a pretty butterfly. I’m just here for the ride, however short it is.
She walks along the roads, waving at strangers who wave at her. It’s like she knows everyone here, or maybe she’s just excited to be back.
But every once in a while, she looks over her shoulder to see if I’m still there. And after a while, the smile on her face no longer disappears when our eyes connect.
I lick my lips as I watch her come to life in this little town she calls home. Until she comes to a stop in front of a white house with a picket fence, where grass has almost overgrown the pavement leading to the door.
She swallows hard, her fingers skimming the wood, barely able to touch it.
She pauses in front of the small gate that’s still unlocked and blowing open softly in the wind.
“This is—”
“Your home.”
She turns to look at me. “How?”
I shrug. “Eli’s ledger. He keeps records of everyone who comes to the House.”
She raises a brow. “But I never told anyone—”
“The cult members.”
Her lips part in a dubious smile. “Ahh … right.”
She told some of them where she lived, and they, in turn, told their elders, who told our House. Not because they ever wanted her to return there, of course. Mostly so they’d know where to look in case she escaped.
More information to keep someone shackled for life.
But that same information now led to the only place she wished to go.
I fish something I’ve been keeping close to me out of my pocket and throw it at her. When she catches it, her eyes light up. “My keys? But I gave them to those cult guys.” She throws me a look. “All this time, you had them?”
Of course, the elders handed them to the House when they sent her to us. It was an exchange of power, after all.
“Eli gave them to me. In case I’d need to find you if you fled,” I respond.
She makes a face and shakes her head. “Of course.”
“Well, go on.” I egg her on.
She straightens her back and tilts her head, and with more confidence than ever before, she walks toward her house. But the moment she touches the door, she pauses, like an invisible force is stopping her from going inside.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she says.
My stomach drops. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
She clutches the door handle, still afraid to take the final step. “I know you have to take me there. And I know this is only temporary. But … this means a lot.”
I don’t know how to respond.
How to take her kindness when I deserve none of it.
But I will take the crumbs of her happiness and hold them in my palm forever. Because she’s shown me something no one has ever done before. Something worth more than a million words.
The ability to love.
So I stay silent as she slips the key into the lock as though it was only yesterday that she closed the doors behind her. After a heavy breath, she pushes open the door, along with all the unopened letters scattered on the floor.
The place is damp and dark, with sunlight scattering through the closed blinds onto the dust filtering through the air. Pieces of her life still lie on the couch and table, a magazine, a half-finished cup of coffee, a pair of dirty shoes lying in the corner, and a phone on the kitchen counter.
