Abandoned

45

The weeks that followed settled into a new rhythm, one that stretched beyond hospital walls.

Short outings became frequent, deliberate, and carefully contained. Nothing rushed. Nothing assumed. Everything moved at Sienna's pace.

At first, it was just the front steps.

Zareya would carry Sienna outside, let her feel the change in air, the open sky above instead of fluorescent lights. They would sit together on a bench near the entrance, Sienna pressed firmly into Zareya's chest, her fingers curled tightly into familiar fabric. Five minutes. Sometimes ten. Sometimes less.

When Sienna's body tensed, shoulders lifting, breath going shallow, they went back inside. No coaxing. No disappointment.

The message was clear and consistent, we leave when you need to.

That safety changed everything.

Within days, Sienna began to loosen her grip just a little. Her head would lift from Zareya's shoulder. Her eyes would track passing people, fluttering leaves, the hum of a distant car. She didn't smile yet, but she watched.

Curiosity bloomed quietly.

—————

The first visit to the new house was approached with the same careful intention.

Laila came along. Dr. Harrison insisted on it, not as oversight, but as support. The outing was logged, planned, discussed down to the smallest detail.

Sienna sensed the difference immediately.

The drive itself was new. The vibration of the car beneath her, the unfamiliar angles of the seat, the way the world passed by through the window faster than she could process. She clung to Zareya's jacket the entire time, her elephant tucked beneath her chin, her pacifier bobbing anxiously with each breath.

"It's okay, baby," Zareya whispered, one hand resting firmly on Sienna's leg. "We're together. We're just going to look."

When they arrived, Zareya carried Sienna up the front path.

The house was small and open-plan, just as Zareya had hoped. Light spilled through wide windows. The garden stretched behind it, quiet, green, enclosed. No traffic noise. No sharp edges. No chaos.

Sienna froze the moment they crossed the threshold.

Her body went rigid, breath hitching. Her fingers dug painfully into Zareya's shoulder.

Zareya stopped immediately.

"We're not going any further," she murmured, rocking slightly. "You can just look."

Sienna stared.

The ceiling was higher than the hospital's. The air smelled different, wood and fresh paint and something faintly floral drifting in from outside. The silence felt strange, too open.

Seconds passed.

Then Sienna shifted.

Her head lifted slowly from Zareya's shoulder. Her eyes scanned the room again, this time less frantically. She noticed the soft rug laid out deliberately in the centre of the living space. The basket of toys placed carefully in the corner. The child-sized table waiting by the window.

Her grip loosened.

A soft sound escaped her, half breath, half question.

Zareya smiled, heart pounding. "This could be your space," she whispered. "Only if you want it to be."

They didn't explore much that first visit. Sienna stayed in Zareya's arms the entire time. But when they stepped into the garden, something shifted again.