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Chapter Twenty-Six

John's wife immediately brought me in for a bear hug as soon as I took off the hospital footies and dropped them on the porch—I did not want to make a mess on the stunning turquoise rug inside. All of the clothes I had on from Lorenzo's went straight to the trash when I was at the hospital—I did not want to keep anything from him, not even the shoes. The dirt and grass that clung to the bottoms of them scattered across the wooden boards.

Sweat drops beaded my forehead from the outside heat as I stepped through the door of the log house for the second time. The entre-way was exactly how I last remembered it, except for the scent. I could tell candles were lit as the smell of vanilla wafted in the air and tickled my nose hairs.

"Are you hungry?" The woman asked, interrupting me from the goggled daze I was trapped in.

My head shook side to side quickly. I was still painfully full from what I ate of the cinnamon roll. The smell of vanilla was actually making me nauseous. I have not had much of an appetite lately from all the questions I have had to answer about what happened.

"Just let me know if you change your mind. Come, you must be hot in those clothes. It is almost ninety degrees outside!" The pretty woman fretted, "There are plenty of outfits you could keep. My closet has needed to be cleaned out for a long time. I've just been needing a push."

I was then led up a straight flight of stairs. A grand master bedroom came into sight. Inside, there was a king-sized bed with silk covers and pillowcases decorated perfectly with each other. A thick quilt sat on the bottom of the bed, its crème color matching the beige room.

The door to a walk-in closet opened. Though the space was large, the clutter made it seem smaller. Heaps of clothes were in every direction, every hanger holding an outfit.

She began to ramble nervously.

"Sorry about the mess. I was not prepared for this. We just found out this morning that you were even alive. You know how news spreads around here, just like wildfire. The authorities alerted your father that you were dead, and when they told him who your mother was, he knew right away that you were his. We hosted your funeral. Your dad was so torn apart that there were no remains to bury.

It has been a hard time ever since he found out—imagine our surprise when we were told that you did not pass away after all. We are very grateful that you are here with us. John took the DNA test for their records when you were found. It is such a relief that you are okay. Oh, and my name is Stella. My apologies for not introducing myself sooner. I know you're Jayden."

I nodded, not really knowing what to say to all the exploding new information. The words, "Yes, I'm Jayden," fell out of my mouth, slowly rolling off my tongue. My throat went dry from anxiety.

There was a funeral for me? I have a grave? My dad hosted it all? What does she know about what happened? I could not come to terms with what she said, nor could I visualize all of that happening.

"Was what I said too much? Oh my, I must be a monster. I am so sorry. I don't think before I speak a lot of times, and it gets me in trouble. That must have been very overwhelming for you to hear." Stella declared, guilt filling her face as her perfectly plucked eyebrows furrowed.

"Very overwhelming." I confirmed as I tried to push her words out of my head.

"Okay, let's focus on finding you clothes." She ordered with a determined look as she began to sort through a pile.

I was grateful that Stella changed the subject in consideration of my feelings. She had a warm nature to her that was very comforting—I know she did not mean to upset me. Curious, blue eyes kept bouncing from the hangers in the closet to the bruises that covered my face. It was clear that she wanted to ask about them but she didn't, which was respectful. I decided that I liked her.