His shoulders slumped as soon as he was seated. The nurse tucked a thin blanket over his legs, unnecessary in the late-morning heat but comforting all the same.
“There we go,” Ty said cheerfully, unlocking the wheels. “All set?”
Elior nodded, fingers curling into the edge of the blanket. His gaze flicked around the room one last time—white walls, scuffed floor, the bed that had held him captive for a month. His mouth pressed into a thin line.
Ty pushed the chair out of the room, and I fell into step beside them. The hallway felt longer than before. Doors slid past, voices murmured, carts rattled. Every sound grated on my nerves. I had an overwhelming need to put distance between Elior and anyone who thought they had a right to him.
A few staff members glanced our way. Some smiled politely. Others watched too closely. I met every look head-on, daring them to say something. No one did.
The elevator ride down was quiet. Elior stared at the numbers lighting up above the doors, his foot bouncing faintly. When the doors opened to the lobby, sunlight flooded in through the glass wall ahead.
As we stepped outside, Elior inhaled deeply, a faint smile on his lips.
Ty wheeled him to the edge of the drop-off area and stopped, locking the wheels. “Alright, this is it.”
“Thank you,” Elior said, soft but sincere.
I crouched in front of Elior, hands resting on my knees. “Okay, baby. I’m going to help you up, then we’ll walk to the car together. You tell me if you get dizzy. We’ll go as slow as you need.”
He nodded, eyes shining. “Okay.”
I helped him stand, one arm around his waist, the other steadying his elbow. He swayed for a second, breath catching, then found his balance. I didn’t let go, not even when he took his first step.
We walked like that across the lot, and when we reached the car, I opened the passenger door and helped him settle into the seat, adjusting it so his feet rested comfortably on the floor. I buckled him in myself, making sure the strap didn’t press too tightly against his chest.
“There we go,” I said quietly.
He looked at me then, his eyes wide with a mixture of exhaustion, relief, and disbelief. “I’m really leaving,” he murmured.
“Yes,” I answered. “You are.”
I closed the door gently and rounded the car, my hands shaking as I slid into the driver’s seat. I started the engine,then paused, gripping the wheel harder than necessary.
One month of restraint. Of smiling for cameras and answering questions just right. One month of waiting.
I reached over and took his hand, threading our fingers together. He clutched back like he was afraid I might vanish if he let go.
“Are you okay?” I asked, looking at him from the corner of my eye as I pulled out of the lot.
Elior watched the hospital shrink in the side mirror until it disappeared entirely. “Yes, it’s just… a lot. It still doesn’t feel real. Sorry, I-I feel like I’ve said that a lot today.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said, taking the nearest exit onto the highway. It was around a twenty-minute drive to the place I’d rented. “It makes sense that you feel that way. Anyone would.”
He squeezed my hand, but didn’t say anything. And that was okay. We’d get there.
* * *
By the time I turned onto the last street, Elior had straightened a little in his seat, his eyes open and taking in everything passing by. Neat lawns. Parked cars. A kid’s bright purple bike tipped over near a driveway. Ordinary things. I watched his reflection in the glass, noting how each mundane detail seemed to fascinate him.
I slowed as the house came into view.
It was one story, with dark-blue siding, and had a small porch with two wicker chairs and a railing that needed a fresh coat of paint. Empty planter boxes sat waiting to be filled on both sides of the steps.
I pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Elior stared ahead, lips parted. “This is… this is it?”
