Alessandra POV
The world didn't move. Not really. Not after the words left the cop's mouth.
They're dead.
Elena and Dave. Gone.
Just like that. I wanted to scream. To cry. To feel something. But there was nothing. A numbness so thick it felt like cement in my chest. For the first time in years, no one was screaming at me, no fists hitting me, no sharp words cutting through my skull. And yet... it felt unreal. Surreal. The cop handed me a piece of paper—a case number, some details about the accident, names, phone numbers. I didn't read it. Couldn't. My mind kept repeating one thought over and over: They're gone.
I walked past the police car, past the flashing lights, back toward the house. The building looked the same, but everything inside felt different. I expected to hear Elena's shrill voice, Dave's booming threats, the clatter of dishes being smashed when I was late with something. But it was silent. Empty. I pushed open the door. It smelled like smoke and alcohol and old fear. My "room"—my closet—looked smaller somehow, more like a cage. And in a way, it was. But now the cage was unlocked.
For the first time in my life, I didn't have to obey anyone. I didn't have to tiptoe around, didn't have to hide bruises or fake smiles. I was... free. And yet, freedom was terrifying. I had nowhere to go. No family, no guidance, no safety net. Matt would take me in, yes. But could I really let someone else see me... all of me? The bruises, the scars, the broken pieces that had been carved into me for years? I didn't know.
Questions crashed into me like waves: What do I do now? Where do I go? How do I survive on my own? And... why wasn't I crying? The city outside buzzing and moving like normal people lived there. Normal people who didn't fear the people who were supposed to love them. People who weren't afraid of their own homes.
The cop didn't say anything else, just watched me, his pity weighing down like a physical thing. I wanted to scream at him. Why are you looking at me like that? Don't you get it? They're gone... and I don't care. But no sound came out. I just shook my head, disbelief burning behind my eyes.
Eventually, he spoke again. "Alessandra... we need to take you to the police station, just to discuss the next steps. You're... safe with us." I blinked. Safe? That word made me laugh bitterly inside. I hadn't been safe in years—not at home, not anywhere. But right now, standing there on the cracked sidewalk, feeling the cold air bite my skin, I realized... maybe this was my first taste of it. Before I could respond, a car pulled up.
Out stepped a woman in her mid-thirties, professional-looking, but with soft eyes. She came and stood in front of me and cop introduced her. "This is Ms. Harper," he said. "She's a social worker. She'll help you with everything from here." "Social worker," I repeated under my breath, the words tasting foreign. "Like... foster care?" Ms. Harper gave me a gentle smile. "Something like that, Alessandra. We'll figure everything out together. But first, we need to go to the station so we can get some paperwork done and make sure you're safe."
I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to run, wanted to disappear back into the shadows where I felt comfortable. But another part... another part of me wanted to believe her. Just a little. The cop opened the car door, and I stepped in without resistance. My backpack was still on my shoulder, filled with the few things I owned. Nothing more than old clothes, a few books, and memories I barely wanted to keep. As the car drove off, I glanced one last time at the house I had called home for so long—the place that had been my prison, my hell, and the source of everything that had hurt me.
The house that had taken everything from me, yet somehow, I had survived. I didn't cry. Not yet. I didn't know how. But for the first time in years, I felt a small flicker of something I hadn't felt in a long time: possibility.
Ms. Harper reached over, placing a reassuring hand on mine. "It's going to be okay, Alessandra. I promise we'll take it one step at a time." I wanted to believe her. I wanted to hope. But hope was dangerous—it made you soft, vulnerable. And softness had always gotten me hurt before. Still... maybe, just maybe, it was time to let someone help me.