The corridors of the Blackwood stronghold were silent except for the faint hum of life support and distant machinery. I walked slowly, each step echoing softly against the polished floors, feeling like a stranger in my own home.
Julian had given me space, and Adriana had respected it, letting me move at my own pace. Even Ethan stayed nearby, vigilant but unobtrusive.
I paused at a familiar door — my old bedroom, untouched for years. The door creaked softly as I opened it. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, dust motes dancing in the rays. My chest tightened. The room was mine again, yet it felt different.
Everything was cleaner than I remembered. Organized. Pristine. But the walls still held the echoes of my past: faint imprints of where I'd pressed my palms to the paint, the corner where I had once cried myself to sleep, the faint smell of my mother's perfume lingering in the curtains.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over the sheets, over the desk, over the empty shelf where my old journals had been. My heart beat fast, a mix of relief, fear, and uncertainty.
Adriana entered quietly, carrying a tray with tea and something soft to eat. She set it down beside me, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed. Her presence was calm, reassuring.
"You don't have to rush yourself," she said softly.
"I… I don't know how," I admitted, voice trembling. "How to be here. How to… trust that this isn't going to hurt."
Adriana reached out, resting a hand over mine. "It won't," she said simply. "You've been alone for too long, Alexandra. You've survived… and now you don't have to do it alone anymore."
The name — Alexandra — felt strange, yet powerful on my tongue. A reminder that I was more than Lexi, more than the scared girl Catherine had kept under her thumb.
"I'm scared," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'm scared I'll mess this up. That I'll hurt… or that something bad will happen again."
Adriana squeezed my hand. "Fear isn't weakness. It's proof that you care, that you're human. And we'll be here. All of us. Protecting you, guiding you. You're home now."
I took a shaky breath and looked around the room again. This was real. My parents had come for me. My brother and sister had smiled at me without judgment. And for the first time, I allowed myself to imagine a future here, in this room, in this family.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Ethan stepped inside, carrying a small box. "We thought you might like this," he said, setting it on the desk.
Inside were small mementos from my childhood — a photograph of my family together before I had been sent away, a folded drawing I had made as a child, and a tiny, silver locket I didn't even remember owning.
I ran my fingers over the locket, over the photograph, and a quiet ache of recognition filled me. I had been loved, even if I hadn't always felt it.
Julian entered next, not with authority, but with quiet reassurance. "We know you've been through a lot," he said, voice soft. "But you're here now. Safe. And we're going to face whatever comes next together."
For the first time in years, I didn't flinch. I didn't prepare to defend myself. I simply let them be there. Let myself be held, let myself belong.
And in that calm, quiet moment, I realized something I hadn't in a long time: home wasn't about walls or strongholds. It was about people. People who would stand in front of you, behind you, beside you… people who would fight, wait, and love without conditions.
I wasn't just surviving anymore. I was beginning to live.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to hope.