Chapter 6 Jace
Jace
“You’ll need to bring him to the address on the discharge paperwork once a week. Their office phone number is listed there; call to schedule an appointment within the next few days. We will know if you don’t. Therapy is mandatory.”
“Got it,” I answered shortly, my body practically vibrating with the need to finally take Elior home.
The nurse didn’t look impressed by my urgency. She slid another page toward me, tapping a manicured nail against the margin. “Medication schedule is non-negotiable. Morning and evening, with food. Side effects are listed here. If there’s any regression in his condition, contact us immediately.”
“I will,” I said. I meant it. I’d memorized the list already, gone over it twice last night and once again this morning while I waited for them to let me back into the room.
One month.
That’s how long they’d kept him here. One month of white walls and locked doors and people asking him questions he didn’t have the language to answer.
One month of watching him get thinner, the healthy glow of his skin dulling, his beautiful curves whittling away.
One month of monitored visits and careful distance and rules that made my teeth grind.
And then, last night—casually, as if they weren’t detonating a whole-ass bomb in my chest cavity—they’d told me he’d be discharged in the morning.
I hadn’t slept more than an hour at most.
The nurse kept talking. “He’ll need structure, routine, consistency. No major stressors. No sudden changes.”
I almost laughed at that. Instead, I held my tongue and nodded. “Of course.”
I signed where she pointed, not letting my hand shake. I didn’t let them see how badly I wanted to be done with this—to take Elior out of this goddamn place and into the house I’d rented for us.
I stood as soon as the nurse gathered her papers. “We’re clear?”
She looked at me over her glasses, weighing me. Everyone always weighed me now. I knew how people saw me. I was fine with it. After all, most of their suspicions were true.
“Once transport clears him. Shouldn’t be long.”
“Good.”
I didn’t bother softening my tone.
The walk down the hall felt unreal. Familiar doors passed by—rooms I’d stood outside of for weeks, hands shoved into my pockets so I wouldn’t do anything that would put this moment at risk.
Elior’s door was at the end, half-open now.
Sunlight cut across the floor in a way it hadn’t before, like even the building knew it was letting him go.
He was sitting up in bed when I stepped in.
So much smaller than when he’d come in. That hit me every time. His clothes hung loose, collarbones too sharp under the fabric, wrists thin where the hospital band still circled them.
His eyes lifted to where I stood in the doorway. “Daddy?” he asked softly, like he wasn’t sure I was allowed to be here.
I crossed the room in three strides and stopped myself just in time, pulling my hands back before I touched him. I could wait a few minutes to hold him again. Just as soon as we were gone from this shithole.
“Good morning,” I said. “Guess what, cherub?”
He watched my face carefully, searching it. “What?”
“They’re letting you go,” I told him. I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice this time. “You’re coming home with me. Today.”
For a second, he didn’t react.
Then his breath hitched.
“R-really?” he whispered.
“Really, baby.”
His fingers twisted in the blanket, knuckles whitening. “You’re not lying, right? This is real?”
I crouched in front of him, lowering myself so we were eye to eye, careful to keep my hands visible and controlled. “I’m not lying. It’s real, baby. It should be within the hour.”
His eyes filled, but he didn’t cry. “Do I need to do anything?”
“They’ll probably have you sign a few papers, but that’s it. Daddy is taking care of the rest.” I’d follow every rule they put in front of me if that’s what it took to keep him. I’d play cooperative, attentive, grateful.
I’d feed him properly, unlike them. I’d satisfy his every need. Keep him safe from questions and doubts, and anyone who thought they knew better than I did about what he needed.
“I don’t know what to say,” Elior said, his brows cinched. “It doesn’t feel real. Like maybe I’m asleep still.”
“That’s okay, cherub,” I replied, gently brushing back his hair with my hand.
“I get why you feel that way, but I’ll do my best to prove to you it’s real.
God, I can’t fucking wait to get you home, baby.
We’ll get some real good food in you, get those beautiful curves back.
It’ll be just me and you, no one to bother us. You want that, don’t you?”
Elior’s chin trembled as if he were holding back a sob. “Please, Daddy.”
I leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, cupping his face in my hands. His eyes were watery. “Oh, my sweet boy. Daddy will fix everything, I promise.”
Twenty minutes passed just like that, him nervous to accept that he was really getting out of this prison, and me comforting him the best I could, promising that I was telling the truth.
Once he was calm enough, I showed him what I’d brought him—a sweatshirt, sweatpants, socks, and a pair of sneakers.
The clothes he’d come in with were long gone, tucked away in an evidence locker somewhere.
I helped him balance as he stood shakily and changed.
When he was dressed, he sat back down on the edge of the hospital bed and let me help him with his shoes.
Then finally, a soft knock sounded, and another nurse stepped in. The young man smiled brightly at us—well, at least at Elior. He waved a clipboard in the air. “Morning, Elior. Ready to go home?”
Elior glanced at me like he needed confirmation. I nodded. He took a breath, then quietly squeaked out a “yes.”
The nurse went through the motions—signatures obtained, instructions repeated slowly and clearly. Elior signed where he pointed, his handwriting shaky but determined.
Just as he finished the last signature, another man knocked on the door frame, pushing a wheelchair. “You guys ready?”
The nurse acknowledged the man, then turned back to address Elior. “This is Ty, he’s going to take you downstairs. We know you can walk, but the wheelchair is hospital policy. He’ll take you outside, then that’s it. Do you have a car ready? We can help you book an Uber if not.”
“My car’s in the waiting lot. Is that good, or should I bring it up to the curb at the entrance?”
“No, that’ll be fine,” the nurse answered kindly. “Okay then, Elior, you’re officially discharged.”
Elior froze, overwhelmed. He sent me an anxious look, as if he wasn’t sure what to do. I helped him up, lightly rubbing his back as I led him to the wheelchair.
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.
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