Abandoned

29

The lights were dimmed, the curtains pulled halfway to keep the room soft and quiet. Sienna sat curled on her bed, legs tucked beneath her, elephant gripped tightly in her lap. Her hair was mussed, her eyes tired and hollow with days of confusion and absence.

Charlotte knelt by the foot of the bed, slow and deliberate in her movements. "Sienna," she said gently, holding up a small tablet. "I have something for you. A message."

Sienna didn't look at her. Her fingers stroked the frayed ribbon around her stuffed bear's neck in tight, repetitive motions. Her gaze stayed fixed on the window, unmoving.

"It's from someone you know," Charlotte tried again, her voice softer this time. "From Zareya."

There was a flicker—so small, Charlotte nearly missed it. Sienna's hands paused. Her head didn't turn, but the stillness was different now. Listening.

Charlotte carefully tapped the screen, turning it around.

The video opened with a soft chime, then the familiar face filled the screen—Zareya, sitting in a sunlit room, her long brown hair tied back, her smile gentle but subdued.

"Hi, Sienna," Zareya said, her voice calm but thick with emotion. "I've been thinking about you so much. I know things are confusing right now... and I'm not there the way I used to be. But I want you to know something very important, okay?"

Sienna's eyes were on the screen now. Wide. Still. Her bottom lip trembled, but she didn't blink.

"I miss you. So much. And I'm still here. Even if I'm not in the room with you, I'm still thinking about you, every day. You are safe. And there are people with you now who care, and who want to help. Just like I did."

Sienna's breathing grew shallow. She hunched closer, so slowly it seemed unconscious. Her stuffed elephant slipped from her grasp, but she didn't notice.

"You're so brave, Sienna. I'm proud of you. Can you remember that? Even when it's hard?"

For the first time in days, a small sound came from Sienna's throat. It wasn't a word—just a breath broken by emotion, a shuddering inhale that bordered on a sob. Her hand touched the screen.

"I'll be sending you more messages, okay?" Zareya continued, her smile turning wistful. "One each day. Just us. Just for you."

The video ended.

Silence returned, heavy and fragile. Sienna didn't move. She stared at the now-black screen, her fingers still resting where Zareya's face had been.

Then her shoulders began to shake.

Not loud. Not violent. But deeply. Soft, quiet sobs wracked her small frame. Charlotte stayed where she was, unmoving, letting the wave crest and fall. It was the first release Sienna had allowed herself since the separation.

Sienna buried her face into her elephant, clutching it to her chest like a lifeline.

Charlotte blinked back tears of her own and made a note—mental and written—for the team.

Sienna responded. She remembers. She still feels. And somewhere inside, she's reaching back.

The next day went just the same. Sienna had barely slept the night before—restless and disoriented, caught between dreams and the blank spaces of confusion. Now, she sat on the floor in the corner, her knees hugged to her chest, surrounded by her comfort items, but untouched by them.

Charlotte sat nearby with Leo, quietly sorting through toys in an attempt to gently coax her into engagement. It had been a week since the transition. A week of silence, mistrust, and escalation.

"Would you like the elephant or the puzzle today, Sienna?" Charlotte asked softly, sliding the options closer.

No response. Sienna's eyes twitched toward the tablet resting on the shelf—where Zareya's message had played a few days ago—but she didn't reach for it.

When Charlotte moved to reposition one of the bears, Sienna suddenly lashed out—her hand striking the basket hard enough to knock it over. Blocks scattered across the room like thunder.

"Sienna—" Leo stepped in gently, crouching to her level.

But the girl was gone behind her eyes.

She screamed. A guttural, heart-wrenching sound that didn't sound like a child, but like something torn from the deepest place inside her. She kicked at the wall. Then at Leo. Her tiny fists hit the floor again and again.

Charlotte and Leo backed off—calm, trained, but visibly shaken.

"Get Dr. Harrison," Leo said under his breath.

Minutes later, Dr. Harrison entered with two nurses, hoping to de-escalate. But Sienna was beyond calming now. When anyone moved close, she screamed louder. She bit her own hand, trembling violently as though her body was betraying her.

"She's going to hurt herself," Charlotte said. "This isn't just grief. She's spiraling."

Dr. Harrison hesitated. He looked at the small girl curled in on herself, tears smeared across her cheeks, clutching at her shirt like she wanted to tear out of her own skin.

"This isn't sustainable," he said finally. "We've tried gradual reintroduction. Supportive play. Video messages. It's not enough. She's regressing rapidly."

A long pause.

Charlotte bit her lip. "Do we call her?"

Dr. Harrison's jaw tightened. "It crosses a line. You know that."

"I also know that little girl hasn't eaten in a week," Leo said quietly. "She thinks she's been abandoned again. That the one person she trusted disappeared without a word. I know it's a boundary breach. But this? This is a trauma response. And it's escalating."

The room was quiet for a long beat.

Finally, Dr. Harrison gave a slow nod. "Alright. One visit. Structured, observed. We bring Zareya in. And we document everything. But this is about Sienna's stability. Nothing else."

Charlotte stood, already reaching for her phone.