My parents are picking me up from the hospital today, after two weeks of being questioned, stuck with needles, examined endlessly, bathed, and given IV fluids, medications, supplements, and food several times per day. It’s been exhausting and frightening. I went from living a life where I would go weeks at a time with no human interaction at all to having people practically on top of me all day long. Several times I’ve found myself wishing I was back in the dark, cold room with Poppy, my books, and the television. My time there was easier.

Most of the time, that is. When I was alone.

It feels strange wearing the jeans, sweater, and shoes that Mommy brought for me a few days ago. The clothes I had on when the man took me were all I had until they no longer fit and became too thin, torn, and dirty to wear anymore. After that, I was given an old white shirt to wear and a pair of his sweatpants. Nothing else. Now I’m hyperaware of the texture of the denim against my legs, the boots squeezing my feet, and the tag of the sweater scratching the back of my neck. I wish I could take it all off.

I nod and awkwardly shake hands with the hospital staff and police officers who have all come to say goodbye and wish me well. I try to smile at them and parrot back what I know they expect me to say in response. I’ve learned a lot from watching them these past few weeks. They mean well, but I know I’m just a project to most of them and an object of curiosity for the rest. Everything has felt stressful and surreal. Like being wheeled out of the hospital right now in a wheelchair, which the doctor insisted on. Is this real? I glance around when the hospital lobby doors magically open, and a whole new world is revealed to me like a huge television screen. So much is here. Colors, sounds, smells. All of it rushes back to me as if screaming, remember me? My eyes catch on everything: cars, buildings, more people, and movement everywhere I look. Fear and panic grip me with each moment, but I allow my father to push me—he and my mother unaware of the silent scream inside me.

Nearing the car, my parents try to take my backpack away again, forcing me to get out of the wheelchair and stomp my feet and cry until they back away from me and agree to let me keep it. They smile awkwardly at people staring at us in the parking lot. I’ll never let my backpack and my books go. Why can’t they understand I need the books, and I have to read them every day to stay safe? Besides, it’s the only way I can see the prince until he comes back again. I’ve told them this many times, but they refuse to listen and just shake their heads at me and tell me to calm down. I don’t care if they say my backpack and my books are old and dirty. They’re mine.

When Daddy opens the car door, I climb into the backseat and settle in the middle. I don’t ask where Zac and my new little sister are. In fact, I haven’t seen them since that first day at the hospital.

“Will Poppy be there?” I ask my parents from the backseat. Buckled in, as Mom put it.

I catch them exchanging an uneasy look that I can’t read as we pull out of the hospital parking lot. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask, alarmed. “Is Poppy okay?” I was told Poppy wasn’t allowed in the hospital, so I’m sure he must be waiting at home for me.

My mother turns in the passenger seat to face me. Her blond hair is swept up in an intricate knot at the back of her head, and her eyes study me for a moment. She always pauses before she speaks to me. “Holly, Poppy’s gone to live with another family for a while. He’s safe, and he’s happy, and he’s being very well taken care of. I promise.” 

I blink several times and gulp over the lump in my throat. “What? Why? Why isn’t Poppy coming home with me at my house?” 

My father jumps in before Mom can answer. “We spent a lot of time talking to your doctors about everything that’s happened to you. You’re not going home yet, Holly.” He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “You will soon, but just not yet. You’re not ready.” 

“Can I go live with Poppy, then?” His new home sounds really nice. But somehow, I’m not sure Poppy really is safe and happy. Something about my mother’s voice didn’t sound honest to me.

My heart sinks as Mommy firmly states, “No, Holly. That’s not possible—” 

“But why? Wh-where am I going?” 

Back in the hole. Until you can be a good girl.

My mother touches my father’s shoulder, stopping him from answering me. “You’re going to be staying at a very nice place for a little while,” she says, not meeting my eyes. She gives me a quick, strained smile. One of many I have seen. From everyone. “It’s different, kind of like a hospital but not like the hospital you were just in. It’s also like a school, and there are small apartments, too. It will be like your own safe little world. It has everything you need. There are really nice doctors and teachers that will help with more…life things that you need to learn.” 

I crinkle my nose. “Life things?” 

“Yes. Like math, and reading, and social skills, coping, and behavior. Cooking and laundry. You’ll be around other people your age that have been through similar…experiences. And once you get better, you’ll even have your own little apartment and a roommate. A girl close to your age.” Again, my parents exchange a look, but this one I read perfectly; it’s one of discomfort. “A special doctor will talk to you about the things that…happened…to you, so you can feel safe and normal.” 

Safe and normal? I’m not sure any amount of talking is ever going to make me feel safe and normal. “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to feel like, so how will I even know if I feel it or not?” 

“Honey, you will,” she says, slightly exasperated. “That’s what the doctor is going to help you with. It’s what they specialize in. Don’t you worry.” 

The familiar feeling of panic and helplessness starts to creep up again. “I don’t want any help,” I say emphatically. “I just want to go home and be with Poppy. Please…” 

My begging is ignored. As usual.

“We know, and we want you to come home soon, but your father and I think it’s best that we take it slow.” My mother hesitates and shakes her head slightly. “We both have extremely busy jobs, we can’t be home during the day to be with you. Zac has his own condo with his girlfriend, and Lizzie has piano practice and gymnastics.” She rubs her hand across her forehead. “We just have to figure it all out. But it’s not far from where we live at all. Just across town, actually. We’ll visit you, I promise.” 

Defeated, I pull my backpack across the seat and onto my lap, ignoring my mother’s look of disapproval. I might not know a lot of “life things,” as they said, but I’ve seen this on TV many times. They don’t have time for me. They’ve all moved on and built their lives around each other, and I’m just the oddball in the way now. 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I protest, but it comes out weak and immature, which I am well aware is something I need to work on to fit in. “I can find things to be busy at just like everyone else.” 

“We know you can, Holly,” my mother says. She sounds almost too confident. Another quick, strained smile follows. “And you will. It’s just going to take some time.”

“And what about the prince?” I ask, worried that it might take him another ten years to find me again now that they’re moving me. “Are you going to let him know where I am?”

“Yes,” she says with an eye roll. “Now please, stop getting yourself all worked up over silly things. Look out the window, it’s a beautiful day.”

She turns back around in her seat, and both my parents stare out the windshield of the car as if I’m not even there, leaving me confused and forgotten. 

Abandoned. 

Beautiful day or not, I’m going from one prison to another. For so long I wanted to go home and be with my family again, and now that I can, it’s all gone. Time has taken everything away from me.