The government-issued SUV pulled up the quiet suburban street, its headlights sweeping across the neatly kept lawns and the familiar two-story house at the corner. For the first time in weeks, Brooklyn saw home.
Ryan glanced at her as the car slowed. "We're home."
The vehicle came to a stop. Two guards stepped out first, scanning the perimeter before opening Brooklyn's door. Ryan followed her, staying close as though afraid she might collapse.
The front door burst open before they even reached the steps. Her mother, Grace, rushed out, her eyes brimming with tears. "Brooklyn!"
Brooklyn barely had a chance to breathe before Grace wrapped her arms around her, clinging as though she might vanish if she let go. Richard, was right behind, his strong arms joining the embrace, his rough voice breaking. "My baby girl… my soldier…"
Brooklyn melted into them, her face pressed against her mother's shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender soap. It was warmth, safety but fragile as if she didn't deserve it.
Grace pulled back, cupping Brooklyn's face. "Are you alright? Did they treat you badly? Did they hurt you in there? God, they wouldn't even let us visit..."
But Brooklyn shook her head sharply, pulling away. Her eyes darted past them, into the house. "Where's Olivia?"
Richard's lips pressed together, while Grace's eyes flickered with hesitation.
Brooklyn stepped closer, her voice firmer, more desperate. "Where is my daughter?"
Ryan shifted uncomfortably, then finally answered when her parents couldn't. "After the news broke… the Grants took her."
Grace added softly, almost apologetically, "And ever since… they've been denying us visits."
Brooklyn's breath caught, her stomach sinking like a stone. "No. No, this is wrong." Her voice cracked as she tried to push past them into the living room, her hands shaking. "She's my daughter! She needs me!"
She made for the phone on the wall but Richard intercepted her, catching her by the wrists. His grip was firm but gentle, the way only a father's could be. "No, baby. Not now."
"Dad, let me go!" Tears burned her eyes as she struggled, her voice rising. "She's my daughter, she's all I have left!"
"I know. I know, sweetheart. But listen to me... you have to give her time. Give them time. She's safe, that's what matters right now." Richard pulled her close, his forehead against hers. His voice was rough, low.
"For tonight… let us take care of you. We'll cook you the best meal you've had in months... a little welcome home gesture just for you."
Brooklyn froze in his arms, trembling, her face wet with silent tears.
She pulled back, eyes narrowing. "Cook me a meal? Look outside — there are men watching my every move. That's not freedom, Dad. So this doesn't feel like home, it's just another kind of prison."
The bitterness in her voice cut like glass.
Grace's face tightened. "Brooklyn, that's no way to talk to your father. He's doing everything he can to..."
"Everything he can? What about what I need?" Brooklyn snapped, her voice trembling with anger and exhaustion. "I need my daughter, Grace. Not pity or a plate of food."
Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel, stormed up the stairs and slammed the door of her old bedroom.
Inside, she leaned against the door, her whole body shaking. The room was almost untouched... posters still on the walls, her old bed neatly made. She crossed the room in slow, heavy steps and collapsed onto the mattress.
The sheets smelled faintly of detergent and dust. She closed her eyes, tears slipping out despite herself and whispered into the pillow, "Olivia…"
Her fists clenched and slowly the sobs faded into silence. Just the sound of her own breathing, heavy, uneven, until finally she lay still, eyes closed, her mind a storm she couldn't silence.
Downstairs, the living room was heavy with silence. Grace stood near the kitchen, her arms crossed tight against her chest, her gaze fixed on the stairs as though willing her daughter to come back down.
She turned finally, her voice quiet but sharp. "We're losing her, Richard."
Richard sat heavily in the armchair, rubbing his hands over his face. His shoulders sagged with a weight he couldn't shrug off. "She's been through hell, Grace. She's not the same girl we raised."
Grace's voice trembled. "I know. And I fear that… she's slipping away from us.... I don't know how to hold her anymore."
Ryan, who had been standing quietly by the door, cleared his throat softly. Both parents turned toward him, their faces etched with exhaustion and worry.
"I should go." Ryan said gently. "She needs space. And… you need time with her."
Richard rose, extending his hand. "Thank you for bringing her back, Ryan. Whatever strings you pulled… we're grateful."
Ryan shook his hand firmly, then looked toward the stairs, his expression unreadable. "No problem, uncle. And trust when I say that she's not gone, she just needs time."
Grace's eyes softened, tears glistening. "I hope you're right."
Ryan gave a small nod, then slipped out the door, the cool night air swallowing him as the guards exchanged subtle glances.