Abandoned

50

April Hain stood beneath the glare of camera lights, chin lifted, hands folded neatly in front of her as microphones crowded closer.

"I never stopped thinking about her," she said, voice steady, practiced. "When Sienna went missing, it broke me. I knew something had gone wrong. I raised concerns, repeatedly, but the system failed her."

Reporters nodded, pens scratching, cameras zooming in.

April sighed, just enough to look pained. "When I heard she'd been found alive, I cried. I knew, deep down, that the work I did back then mattered. That my instincts were right."

A reporter leaned forward. "Do you know where she is now?"

April hesitated, then offered a small, solemn smile. "Last I was informed, she was being treated at St. Mary's Hospital. I just hope she's finally getting the care she deserves."

Flashes went off like lightning.

Her name scrolled across the bottom of the screen:

APRIL HAIN, FORMER SOCIAL WORKER

The scene cut to old photos. Headlines. Speculation.

Zareya watched it all from the couch in her new living room.

The house was quiet in that gentle, lived-in way, not the sterile hush of hospital walls, but the soft hum of a fridge, the distant sound of birds outside, the faint creak of wood settling. Sunlight spilled through wide windows, warming the rug beneath her bare feet.

The television filled the space with noise Zareya hadn't invited.

She sat still, remote loose in her hand, eyes fixed on the screen as April spoke.

Each word felt heavy, but distant.

Like it belonged to another lifetime.

Zareya glanced down the hallway.

Sienna was on the floor near the coffee table, surrounded by toys, blocks, a soft puzzle, her elephant plush sitting upright as if supervising. She was chattering softly to herself, a mix of half-words and humming, occasionally knocking something over and whispering, "Uh oh," before giggling.

Alive. Curious. Herself.

April's voice rose again. "I always believed she'd be found."

Zareya's jaw tightened.

She didn't argue with the screen. Didn't shout. Didn't correct the lie.

She simply pressed the power button.

The television went black.

The room exhaled.

Silence rushed back in, rich and grounding.

Zareya set the remote aside and leaned her elbows on her knees, watching Sienna instead.

She let herself remember.

The first time she'd seen her, curled in on herself, eyes sharp with fear, body stiff and unfamiliar with kindness. Nonverbal. Non-mobile. Malnourished to the point where every rib told a story no child should carry. Hands that struck and bit because they didn't know how to ask. A nervous system screaming constantly, trapped in fight-or-flight.

Vicious, they'd said.

Zareya had known better.

She'd seen a child who had learned the world was unsafe.

Now, that same child was standing unsteadily, holding onto the edge of the sofa as she tried to climb. She paused, glanced back at Zareya with a mischievous grin, and deliberately pushed one cushion onto the floor.