Eleven
Ara
I plop down into my wheelchair with Ivy’s help, trying not to wince when I put the slightest pressure on my ankle. My hip aches as well, but not as sharply as my ankle.
“Iyra will pick you up after you’re done,”
I nod, watching as she smooths her already perfect blouse. It’s her first day teaching a class in Mariam’s absence, and the weight of working under one of the toughest professors at the university is clear in her nervous movements.
If she’s under Mariam, nerves are natural, but I hope they don’t trip her up. Ivy’s blonde hair is styled in a chic bun, her brown pencil skirt hugging her hips, and her white blouse accentuating her natural blush and blue eyes. She looks effortlessly elegant.
“You should get going,” I say.
Ivy frowns, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got ten more minutes,” she says, brushing off my concern.
“Mariam’s classes usually start early. The students will expect the same from you.”
She considers my words, then nods. “You’re right.”
“Have a wonderful day,” I say, pulling her into a hug.
“Thanks, sweetie. Take care, okay? If you feel any discomfort or pain, call me or Iyra. We’ll come right away.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It’s heartwarming that they care so much, but treating me like a porcelain doll is too much.
Take my kitchen, for example—neither can cook, yet I’m banned from it. Iyra can bake, but her cooking is a disaster, and Ivy burned dinner twice on the first day before declaring we’d live on takeout. I hate eating takeout daily, but the last time I tried to cook, Iyra practically snapped my hand off.
They need to dial down the overprotectiveness. Not that I’d dare say it out loud. Ivy climbs back into her car, and I turn my wheelchair around.
Despite the pain, I smile when I see the cracked pathway leading towards a Victorian building. I can hear the faint noise of the kids who must be playing in the backyard.
Hope Springs Home is more than just an orphanage to me. It is the place that has taught me how to live again.
I wheel myself towards the ramp beside the stairs, taking in a large inhale of the fresh air.
This part of the city was left behind long ago when development shifted westward. The building, once donated to charity, became a home for abandoned children when Ellie’s mom first opened its doors. It’s here that I learned to find happiness in the smallest things.
Children teach patience and kindness; they’re full of boundless love and trust, untouched by the cruelty and hatred of the world. Volunteering here feels like a way to atone for my sins. If I can change even a few of their lives and guide them toward a better future, maybe I’ll find some peace—and finally sleep at night.
As I wheel toward the main doors, Ellie, the manager and owner, approaches with a tall, timid-looking girl trailing behind her. Ellie’s kind eyes meet mine, her usual anger softening into something more pained.
“How are you feeling, Ara?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I smile at her, and she returns reluctantly.
When I look behind her, she clears her throat and steps sideways.
“This is Harley. She joined as a volunteer this morning.” Ellie introduces.
I offer her a smile, and she returns it hesitantly. Her long dress, a size too loose, falls to her ankles, and her platinum blonde hair framing her striking features. Blue-grey eyes, a button nose, plump pink lips, and high cheekbones—she looks like a goddess.
But something about her feels… off. Or is it familiar? I can’t quite place it.
Her hunched shoulders and darting eyes betray her unease, tension bleeding into every inch of her posture. A sudden noise from the playground makes her flinch, and I watch as she shifts uncomfortably, like she’s never at home, never settled in her own skin.
Does she even know what it feels like to belong anywhere?
Then it hits me, sharp and cold, like a slap to the chest. A twist of recognition.
The hollow look in her eyes—it’s painfully familiar. I don’t need to know her story to see it. It’s the unmistakable mark of someone who’s been broken, who’s survived abuse. My chest tightens as the bitter truth sinks in.
Abused women recognise each other without words—a silent, invisible bond of shared pain.
Looking at Harley now—her face etched with fear and pain—is like looking at a reflection of my younger self. The girl who escaped a monster’s clutches but never quite left the nightmare behind, still trembling, still haunted, never truly free.
“Nice to meet you, Harley. I’m Ara,”
“Pleasure meeting you,” Harley nods.
Before I can ask how she likes it here, the sound of tiny footfalls reaches my ears. Cas bursts out of the home, his rare smile—the one he saves just for me—lighting up his pretty face as he leaps into my arms.
Pain flares in my hip from his weight, but I don’t care. I hug the little bundle of joy tightly, emotions warring on my face.
I glance at Ellie, silently asking about his adoption. Her expression—an anguished mix of pain and anger—tells me everything I need to know. The anger she harbours for me reignites as she watches me hold Cas close, his small head buried against my neck.
“I missed you, Ara.” His boyish voice nearly brings tears to my eyes.
The affection that he gives only me.
“Excuse me, I need to sort through a few files.” Ellie excuses herself.
I forget about Harley as my gaze drops to the child I love. I care for all the kids at the home, but with Cas, it’s different—it always has been.
His mismatched eyes, one green and one blue, look up at me, wide with trust and adoration. He reaches up and rubs my cheek with his small hand, our familiar routine—his silent way of telling me he’s still here.
Those eyes pulled me out of the dark when I thought I’d never find my way back. His quiet, steady presence gave me just enough light to keep going, to want to keep going.
Cas struggles to form connections, but he tries. He speaks little, preferring quiet corners where he sits cross-legged, immersed in the latest physics textbook I bring him. At seven years old, he devours quantum theories most adults can’t comprehend. His mind is a machine, grasping concepts far beyond his years. If anyone tested him, I’m sure his IQ would break records.
Yet, he’s been rejected five times. Five families, one after another, turned their backs on him.
Why? Because of his eyes?
Those mismatched eyes are nothing but wonder, pure beauty. But people see them as unnatural, unsettling.
I see a miracle.
He never speaks about the rejections. He simply retreats into his world of books and numbers. But I see how it chips away at him, how each rejection burrows into that brilliant mind, trying to convince him he’s unwanted.
Still, he’s braver than I’ll ever be. Every time new prospective parents visit, he gathers his courage, steps out of his shell, and hopes—only to have that hope crushed again.
How can anyone look at him and not see what I see? How can anyone reject this perfect, beautiful boy?
Ellie’s question echoes in my mind: Why don’t you adopt him?
She asked me after the second rejection. I know why she thinks it makes sense. She sees how close Cas and I are, how he only opens up to me. She knows I can keep up with him intellectually, even if I’m not his level of genius. Ellie also sees that I’m single, with no plans to change that. She doesn’t understand why I won’t take him in.
And I can’t blame her.
But how do I explain that bringing him into my life would only ruin his? How do I tell her about the demons I fight daily, about the twisted mind I’ve developed since the kidnapping?
I’m living on borrowed time. How can I bring an innocent child into my chaos, knowing the monster I escaped might one day find me?
These excuses have circled in my mind for years, weakening every time I hold him.
Adjusting his glasses, I notice his pants are shorter and his shirt tighter. He’s outgrowing his clothes again. I’ll need to get him new ones—and for the other kids, too. I don’t want the kids to think I play favourites.
I look up when Harley clears her throat softly.
“Can I help you to the playroom?”
Her voice is husky and strong, if not for the unsure tone.
“That would be a great help. Thanks,” I smile at her.
Working at a shelter for victims like us taught me how to help women like us feel at ease. Harley must be living through nightmares, and I want her to find the same solace I did here. Maybe it’ll offer her the perspective she needs.
Cas hops off my lap and trails behind us as Harley wheels me toward the ballroom-turned-playroom. Ever the little gentleman, Cas holds back the yellow curtains for us. I smile at him, and his face lights up before he darts to his corner of the room. Gathering his things, he rushes back just as Harley settles us on a mat in the centre.
The air here is soothing.
The walls are painted in cheerful colours and donated toys fill every corner. Children run up to greet me, their laughter and giggles chasing away the lingering shadows of dread and guilt. For a moment, there’s nothing but pure, unfiltered joy.
Harley seems to relax, too. She sinks onto a play mat, her face softening into an ethereal smile as two kids weave around her in a game of tag.
She’s likely taller than me, but with her hunched posture, she looks smaller—like she’s trying to disappear. Her every movement is steeped in unease, her tension all too familiar.
It hurts to see it.
We carry this weight forever. Because of them. The monsters. Men who believe their entitlement grants them the right to destroy lives, to steal sanity.
And what do they lose? Nothing. They walk free of nightmares while we struggle to piece ourselves back together, never quite whole again.
I push the bitter thoughts aside. Anger never helped me heal.
Right now, all that matters is making Harley feel safe. To let her know she doesn’t have to guard herself with me—or Ellie.
I remember the first time I felt safe at college. It was when Ivy shared her story of losing her parents in an accident. Her vulnerability gave me permission to trust her, to let my guard down.
Maybe Harley needs that, too.
“I was kidnapped when I was seventeen,” I say quietly, watching her carefully. “Held in a basement for four months.”
Her head snaps toward me. Her eyes widen, startled.
“It took me years to get over the fear. To even stand in a crowd without panicking.” I pause, offering a small smile. “To be honest… I don’t think I’ve ever fully let it go.”
Her eyes soften, shimmering with unshed tears. Sympathy. Understanding.
“Initially, it felt impossible,” I continue. “Life didn’t seem fair or worth going on. But the kids here helped me a lot. They gave me a reason to keep going. And I hope others who need it, find that, too.”
Harley blinks rapidly, fighting to hold back her tears. Assuming they’re victims only undermines the fragile confidence they’ve worked so hard to rebuild.
Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”
I don’t ask for her story—I don’t need to. She’ll share it if and when she feels comfortable. If not, that’s her choice.
I hope she understands that this is a safe space for her to feel comfortable in. She falls quiet, staring down at her fingers twisting in her lap.
I glance over at Cas. He’s sitting close. A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch him jot something down in his notebook, brow furrowed in concentration.
He picked up the habit from me.
On some days, when the kids were napping, I’d sit by the window with a book. Cas would always find me, climb into my lap, and read along. He watched me make notes in the margins, curious. The next day, he showed up with a notebook of his own, copying my every move.
My little angel. My perfect boy.
“I was rescued from a trafficking ring two years ago,”
I turn to see Harley looking at one of the kids. I try not to shiver at her words, but I don’t think I do a good job.
“I was given the okay from my rehab recently.”
“I’m glad that you made it out okay,” I say.
Harley looks at me, her eyes…dead. They are jarring to look at.
“For a long time, I wished I was dead. Those nightmares…I didn’t want to go on. I didn’t see a reason to do so,”
My eyes sting with unshed tears.
Harley tugs at her sleeves and shakes her head. As if she’s ridding herself of any horrible images.
“I won’t lie,” I begin.
She turns, her gaze locking onto mine. There’s an aura about her, something... unusual. I can't quite pinpoint it; perhaps it's the mystery veiled behind those blue-grey eyes.
“I wouldn’t say life suddenly becomes beautiful or easy to bear. Even after nearly a decade, there are days when getting out of bed feels impossible. But we have to push through those moments. Life isn’t always kind—that much I’ve learned. Yet, if we pause and truly look, we can find small miracles, little fragments of beauty that make it all worth it.”
Harley lets out a humourless chuckle.
“Why is it that I have to suffer, but the assholes who raped me get to roam free to prey on other innocent victims?”
I inhale sharply, shaking off the unusual feeling she stirs in me. She’s been through enough; the last thing she needs is my judgment.
“I know. I wish the judiciary systems were hard enough on those monsters.”
“Wouldn’t that be a fair world,” she scoffs.
It is my turn to let out a humourless chuckle. This world is anything but fair.
We stay in comfortable silence for some time before she breaks it.
“I…I tried helping women…”
I say nothing, giving her time to continue.
“Like us. But…but I couldn’t bring myself to see them. Hearing their screams…”
Tears gather in her eyes. We sit close enough for me to gently pat her shoulder. She shakes her head, shame splashing across her face.
“That is understandable, Harley,”
Her eyes meet mine. Does she think not being able to take those screams makes her a bad person? God I hope not.
“I’ve worked in a shelter like that for a year. An environment like that can be…triggering.”
“Why did you leave?”
I let out a sigh. “I lost one of the women who was assigned in my care,”
Harley gasps, her hands flying to her mouth.
“What happened?”
I rub under my eyes, making sure none of the children are looking at us. They are all busy in their worlds, laughing and playing like they should.
“Her demons caught up to her.” I whisper, the pain of losing Rachel still heavy on my heart.
She made us believe she was getting better, even planning for a job after her discharge. I let my guard down, thinking I was helping, only for her to leave us. Her loss left a scar that still burns.
I sniff, wiping my eyes discreetly so that Cas wouldn’t notice. The kid is a lot more perceptive than any kid his age should be.
“Who found her?”
“I did,”
I look down when Harley’s hand pats mine.
“I couldn’t go on after that. I couldn’t keep pretending I was better than them or that their screams and pain didn’t affect me. So, I quit.”
We stay like that for a few minutes.
“Thank you,” Harley says.
“For what?”
She shakes her head, “just…thank you.”
I return the smile. Both of us turn when Cas walks toward me, holding a sheet.
“For you,”
I look down to see a charcoal sketch of mine that has me gasping.
“That’s so beautiful,” Harley praises.
But Cas looks at me, his pretty eyes vulnerable. My own eyes water, and I can do nothing but hug the little boy close, showering him with praises.
“When did you learn to sketch this beautifully?”
“Last week,” he admits.
Done with my smothering hugs and wet kisses, Cas bolts back to his corner, his little feet padding across the floor. I glance down at the sheet in my hands, still amazed that someone so young could create something so beautiful.
It’s a sketch of me, caught mid-smile, the kind of smile I didn’t think I was capable of anymore. Cas has drawn with careful hands—every detail done with love. The soft curve of my dimple, the tiny glint of my nose stud, and even the faint creases that appear at the corners of my eyes when I smile.
It isn’t polished like the work of a seasoned artist, but it’s perfect in its own way.
And for a moment, I’m stunned. I didn’t know I could look this beautiful. Not until I saw myself through his eyes.
Is this how he sees me? Like I’m sunshine, like I’m someone worth smiling at?
“Is it okay if I ask you something?”
I turn to Harley, who looks unsure and apprehensive.
“Sure.”
“Why was Ellie mad at you when you were holding the little kid?”
If she is going to stick around, she might as well know the reason behind the friction between me and Ellie.
“Cas has been rejected by five families for adoption. And she is angry that I won’t adopt him given our obvious bonding,”
“Why won’t you?”
I let out a disbelieving chuckle.
“I’m screwed up in ways more than one. I’m not the right fit to take care of the child.”
“Ellie said that he is some kind of genius, is that true?”
I nod.
“She also told me that you are a professor at Vanderlyne Institute,”
I nod again.
“Excuse me for saying this, but how can you ever think that you aren’t right for him, Ara? You can understand him, and you can nourish his brilliance.”
Talking to her is surprisingly easy. Maybe it is because I know she can understand the fear and pain that I go through.
“My ways of coping through my grief aren’t healthy. Sometimes, the dark episodes I go through aren’t pretty, and I do not wish for anyone, let alone a seven-year-old, to witness that madness,”
Harley sits in silence, lost in thought.
I reflect too. Everyone—Iyra, Ivy, all of them—thinks adopting Cas is the right choice. They believe I can give him a good life, that he might even be good for me. He’s already a miracle in my life, a source of joy I didn’t expect. But what if I fail him? What ?if I end up scarring him emotionally?
Still, how much longer can I stand by and let him be hurt by people who can’t see how lucky they’d be to have him in their lives? How long can I let them keep hurting him?
“Maybe taking him as your own is the responsibility you need,”
I look at Harley when she speaks.
“I don’t understand,”
Both of our eyes move to the kid who is now reading his book, lost in his little world.
“We get stuck, you know? Fixating on the nightmares, shutting everyone out. It’s easier to be alone. No relationships, no vulnerability. So we throw ourselves into work, convincing ourselves it’s enough. But it’s not. It’s just a way to avoid the truth—that we’re scared. Scared to let anyone in, scared to show how messed up we really are. And in the end, all we do is trap ourselves in a cage of our own making.”
When she looks at me, it is with an urging smile.
“Kids aren’t like the world we’ve known. They’re pure, harmless. They won’t betray or hurt you. Maybe taking care of him will give you something outside your thoughts—something real to hold on to.” She explains.
She has a point. But,
“What if I harm him?”
“I don’t think that’s possible,”
I open my mouth to argue, but she beats me to it.
“I’ve lived through the system, and trust me—any kid would prefer a flawed parent who loves them over a so-called perfect one who doesn’t. I’d take love over a monthly cheque any day. All parents mess their kids up a little. It’s the ones who care that make the difference.”
I look down, my thoughts in a twist. What she said makes sense. It makes very much sense that I start to reconsider. Start to think that maybe I was wrong about this.
“Don’t let him grow up wondering why you couldn’t love him enough to fight your demons and give him a home.”
She nails the coffin shut with that closing statement. And I know—no matter how many demons I have to fight, I’ll face them all if it means saving Cas. He’s my miracle. The only reason I’m still here. I’d do anything to keep my miracle safe and loved.
And if I’m allowed… with me.