Those 7 years: Missing One Shot Chapter

15

The first two years of Leo's life were a blur of sleepless nights and quiet moments, each day melding into the next. Life as a mother in captivity was a constant battle. The absence of daylight often left me feeling disoriented, and I had to adapt quickly to the stark realities of our situation. But as difficult as it was, Leo kept me grounded.

In the beginning, the captors had given me just enough supplies to care for him: diapers, wipes, formula, and a few meager outfits. They monitored us closely, their presence always felt, always looming. The room they kept me in felt like a prison, yet I had carved out a small world within it, centered entirely around my son.

As Leo grew, so did my resolve. I made every effort to provide him with the love and care he deserved. I sang to him softly during the quiet moments, using the lullabies I remembered from my own childhood. I crafted stories from my imagination to entertain him, spinning tales of adventure that we would embark on together, though those adventures only existed in my mind.

I made up games to stimulate his mind, using whatever I could find in our small, sparse room. We played peek-a-boo with the curtains that covered the tiny window, and I taught him the names of colors and shapes with scraps of paper.

But as the years went by, the reality of our situation began to weigh heavily on me. The captors were cruel, often reminding me of my powerlessness, manipulating me psychologically to maintain control. I learned to hide the truth from Leo, to protect him from the darkness that surrounded us. My heart ached as I watched the innocence in his eyes, knowing that I couldn't shield him forever.

They would come to check on us, bringing supplies occasionally, but their visits felt like a taunt rather than a kindness. Their words were sharp, designed to hurt. They would laugh at my desperation, and I learned to swallow my anger and fear to shield Leo from the pain of the world we were trapped in.

Year Five: The Weight of Time

Now, five years into our captivity, I could see the world shifting around us in ways I could never reach. Leo was three years old, and he had become my everything—the reason I continued to fight, to hope. He was full of energy, laughter, and an insatiable curiosity that often left me breathless.

His bright blue eyes mirrored the sky I longed to see again, and his laughter rang like a bell, filling our small room with light. But I also felt the burden of the truth—our life together would never be as it should be.

We had a makeshift routine. I taught him how to count using the buttons on my shirt, and we spent hours talking about the world beyond our four walls. I told him about trees, birds, and sunshine, even though he had never seen any of it. I couldn't let him know about the harshness of life, so I made every effort to keep his imagination alive.

"Leo, you're a brave knight!" I would say, grinning at him as he swung a makeshift sword made from a paper towel roll. "And I'm your queen. Together, we can conquer the dragons!"

His laughter filled the room, echoing in a way that made me forget the horrors outside our door, if only for a moment.

But the darkness was never far behind. As Leo grew, I noticed the captors becoming increasingly reckless. Their visits became more frequent, and I could see the change in their demeanor. They treated me with even less regard, their cruelty a constant reminder of my fragility.

One afternoon, as I was feeding Leo, they barged in unannounced. My heart raced as I instinctively pulled him closer to me, shielding him with my body. The lead captor, a man with a sharp grin and cold eyes, took a step closer.

"Still playing house, are we?" he sneered. "You should know better by now. He's nothing but a pawn in this game."

I held Leo tighter, feeling his small body tremble against mine. "Leave us alone," I said, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

"Make us," he taunted, stepping even closer. "You're nothing without us, Taylor. Remember that."

It was in moments like these that I felt the weight of despair settling in my chest. I couldn't let Leo see my fear. I had to remain strong for him, even when every fiber of my being screamed for escape.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. I found myself counting the days, each passing moment a reminder of the time lost. But despite it all, I managed to instill a sense of wonder in Leo. He had no concept of time—only the warmth of my embrace and the stories I spun for him.

As Leo approached his third birthday, I prepared for the day as if it were a celebration. I had spent days crafting a paper crown for him from old scraps, decorating it with drawings of stars and suns. I wanted to make it special, even in our bleak reality.

The morning of his birthday, I placed the crown on his head, my heart swelling with pride. "Happy birthday, my brave knight!" I said, beaming at him.

He looked up at me with pure joy, his laughter lighting up the dim room. "Mama, I'm a king!" he declared, spinning around in delight.

"Yes, you are," I said, tears of happiness and sorrow mingling as I watched him revel in his small victory.

The captors, though cruel, had an unspoken rule about not disrupting Leo's birthday. They would come later, but for that brief moment, it was just us—mother and son, lost in a world of our own creation.

But as the day wore on, I could feel the encroaching darkness of our reality pressing in. I knew that soon enough, we would be reminded of the captivity that bound us.

By the end of the year, I had resigned myself to our fate. Leo was still the light of my life, but I could no longer ignore the nagging sense of hopelessness that surrounded us. The hope of escape began to dim with each passing day, but I held on for him. I had to believe that someday, somehow, I would find a way to protect him and lead us to freedom.

As I sat on the cold floor, cradling him in my arms, I whispered promises to him, each one filled with love and determination. "We will be free, Leo. One day, I swear it."

Though time seemed to stretch endlessly before us, I would never stop fighting for that dream—our dream. And even as I felt the darkness closing in, I clung to the belief that one day, our story would change. For now, it was just the two of us, and that had to be enough.