Extended Epilogue
BAILEY - ANOTHER YEAR LATER
The iron gates are gone.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing. We pull up the long driveway in our rental car and it’s like I’m in a brand new place. I know I’m not… but my brain is struggling to understand that.
Where the iron bars once stood, now there’s just a simple sign surrounded by greenery. The Firefly Center - A Place of Healing and Hope.
Leon rests his hand on my thigh. “You doing okay, love?”
I cover his hand with mine and squeeze, answering with a simple, “Yes.” I want to say more, to compliment what I see so far, but my throat is suddenly tight.
The grounds are completely different. Where manicured lawns and pristine hedges used to be, are now filled with more walking paths, vegetable gardens, and gazebos big enough to host classes.
And it’s no longer a never ending field of green emptiness, but now benches are filled with people sitting and talking quietly.
A small group is doing yoga on mats under a big oak tree and in the distance, I spot a few kites flying high in the sky… probably a group of children playing.
“It’s beautiful,” I finally get out. “So full of life.”
Leon parks in a small parking area near what used to be the main entrance. Even that’s been transformed. The imposing stone steps are now flanked by colorful flower beds, and the heavy wooden doors have been replaced with glass ones that let light pour through.
We start toward the entrance, but I find myself searching for the small cottage in the distance. The place of my captivity. The place that offered both a sense of safety and confinement. Leon pulls me into his side.
“I had it torn down.” His voice is so gentle, so caring without even knowing how much that would mean to me.
I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “That place didn’t deserve to be transformed. It needed to be erased.”
Just beyond where the cottage used to stand, there’s now an open field with a playground. The colorful kites I spotted earlier are coming from that direction, dancing in the breeze.
“Come on,” Leon says softly. “Let’s go find Mum.”
The moment we step inside, I’m hit with the scent of fresh bread and something sweet baking. It’s so different from the cold, antiseptic smell I remember that it almost makes me dizzy. But in a good way.
It’s not just the smell that’s changed. I barely recognize the space at all.
The dark wood paneling is now painted in soft cream and blue. The heavy drapes that would block out natural light are long gone, replaced by sheer panels that let sunshine brighten the rooms. The cold marble floors are covered with colorful rugs that muffle footsteps and make everything feel cozy.
But it’s the sounds that really hit me in the heart. Laughter echoes from somewhere deeper in the house. There’s a gentle hum of conversation. A radio playing upbeat music in the distance. This place is alive in a way it never was before.
“Bailey! Leon!”
Ada appears around a corner dressed in a yellow apron, dusted with flour. She’s practically glowing. My already full heart bursts as she pulls us in for hugs. This is exactly what she needed… a place to heal. A place where she can make a difference.
“I’ve missed you both,” she says, pulling back to look at our faces. “You’re here just in time. We finished the afternoon bread session, and the students are starting to clean up.”
“The students?” I ask.
“My baking and sewing students,” she explains with a full smile on her face. “Fifteen regulars now, all at different stages of their healing. Some have been here since we opened, others just walked through our doors last week.”
As someone who also loves to bake as a form of therapy, learning this bit of news has me almost tearing up.
She leads us down a hallway. It’s hard to tell but somewhere inside I can remember it being dark and oppressive. But now it’s bright and airy, lined with paintings and sketches done by residents. Each one has a placard below.
Heather, 2025. Marie, 2025. Hope, 2025.
I let my eyes linger on each one. They tell a story… some dark and painful, others bright with newfound joy. All of them from the heart.
“This used to be the formal dining room,” Ada says, gesturing to an open doorway where I can see people of different ages working at sewing machines. “Now it’s our textile arts studio.”
I peer in and watch two women about my age cutting fabric patterns. They’re chatting quietly and easily, not a hint of pain on their faces. One of them looks up and waves at Ada with genuine affection.
“The kitchen’s just ahead,” Ada says. “Ready to meet everyone?”
I can hear voices getting louder, people talking over each other, laughing, completely comfortable. The sound of people who feel safe.
Leon and I share a smile. “Ready.”
After being stuffed with fresh bread and treats, Leon tells me he has a surprise to show me.
We excuse ourselves from Ada and her class, and I follow Leon through more renovated hallways until we reach a door.
My pulse speeds up as I wait for him to open it.
Is it leading downstairs, back to those cells, where so much pain and death occurred?
But as he opens it, my eyes widen. It’s not leading downstairs, but instead to a huge gym. Equipment lines the mirrored walls—every kind imaginable. “This is great,” I say. “I’m sure they love it.”
“A lot of the machines are new additions. This wing was added recently.” He takes my hand and leads me through the space toward another entryway. This one is wider than the first. Murmured voices make their way through the closed door. “Here’s what I’m extra proud of.”
He opens it and I’m looking into a room specifically set up for self-defense classes.
Mats cover most of the floor, and punching bags hang from reinforced ceiling mounts.
But what catches my attention are the three women in workout gear leading a small group of five residents through what looks like basic defensive moves.
I recognize some of the moves from my lessons with Leon.
The shortest of the instructors has brown curly hair and freckles scattered across her face. She’s demonstrating how to break free from a wrist grab in simple to understand directions. “Remember, you want to twist toward the thumb. That’s the weakest point.”
The second instructor is taller and blonde, and even from here I can tell she’s got personality. She’s got her hands on her hips, grinning as she corrects one of the students’ stances. “No, no, honey. You’re not asking him out on a date. You’re trying to break his nose. Put some power into it.”
The third woman catches my eye immediately. She’s athletically built with short brown hair and something almost maternal in her expression as she kneels beside a younger nervous looking resident. “It’s okay,” she’s saying softly. “We’ll go slow. Just remember you’re in control here.”
“They’re visiting instructors from a gym in Florida. They started up a program there that specializes in teaching self-defense to trauma survivors.” Leon’s expression is full of pride. “We met them briefly when we were searching for you.”
“They helped you find me?”
He smiles as the curly haired one spots us and waves. “You could say that.”
I watch the light-haired one demo a knee strike on the curly-haired one. I can’t make out what they’re saying to each other but I definitely heard a loud “oof” escape her lips.
“I love this so much,” I whisper, feeling myself getting choked up.
“I thought you’d like it,” Leon says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “They’re here all week, so maybe you can get a few sessions in with them?”
One of the residents, a middle-aged woman, successfully gets herself out of a wrist grab and all three instructors cheer like she just won an Olympic medal. The pride on the resident’s face is a beautiful thing.
“Can we watch for a bit?” I ask.
Leon nods, and we settle quietly against the back wall as the class continues.
I’m feeling so many emotions watching these women reclaim their strength and learning they have the right and ability to protect themselves.
I know ever since I started training, the confidence I’ve built is something I never would have imagined.
The blonde instructor spots us and grins our way before focusing back on her students. “Alright ladies, one more round, and this time I want to hear those badass voices. Shout NO like you mean it.”
The room fills with their voices, some stronger than others, but all of them trying. All of them powerful.
It’s beautiful and heartbreaking and hopeful all at once.
Leon
After Bailey and I toured the rest of the space, I was ushered away with some donors and staff into back to back meetings. Thankfully, Mum was happy to stay with Bailey and keep her occupied.
I wasn’t sure how today would go, but once again, Bailey’s strength amazes me. She’s already warmed up to the place—I’m sure all the changes helped that along.
I’ve called her cell twice but it went to voicemail. I’m finally done and it’s time for us to head out for a quiet dinner and to check into our Airbnb in the countryside. After watching the classes in the gym today, I have a feeling of where she could be.
It takes me a few minutes to reach the gym, but before I set foot inside, I already hear her playlist coming through the door. I don’t want to startle her, but it seems unlikely that she’ll hear me coming.
I push the door open quietly and step inside.
The gym is dimly lit, just the emergency lighting casting long shadows across the equipment.
Bailey’s at the far end, working the heavy bag with focused intensity.
She’s changed into workout clothes—sports bra and leggings—and there’s a sheen of sweat across her skin that tells me she’s been at this for a while.