Chapter 10 CHAPTER 10
Cindy stepped into the small apartment and froze, her eyes sweeping over every corner. To anyone else, the place would have looked pitiful. The curtains were thin and faded, hanging crookedly on the window. A single mattress lay directly on the floor, covered with a neatly folded blanket. A wooden rack sagged under the weight of clothes hung across it, some patched, some worn to thread. A short table sat low in the corner with a few stacked books and a candle stub melted onto a dish beside it. In the far corner stood a single-burner stove, a few pots stacked carefully, and two mismatched plates drying upside down.
But Cindy didn’t see poverty. She saw peace. She saw a space that wasn’t poisoned with shouting voices or orders barked at her. No one had told her to scrub, to serve, to keep her head bowed. The air here smelled faintly of soap and dried herbs, not of control and resentment.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Isabel kicked off her shoes at the door, tossed her apron onto the rack, and spread her arms in a mock gesture of pride. “Well, welcome to my humble abode.”
Cindy turned to her, eyes wide, almost reverent. Isabel laughed nervously and added, “I don’t know what kind of palace you’re used to, but this is all I can afford. So, uh… try not to trip over the stove.”
Cindy’s lips parted, then trembled with something close to wonder. “This… this is much more than I’ve ever had in my whole life.” Her voice cracked, and she quickly pressed her hand over her mouth to steady it. “Thank you. Truly.”
Isabel tilted her head, half suspicious, half touched. “You don’t have to thank me for this dump.”
But Cindy shook her head firmly. “You’ve given me something I’ve never had before. Freedom.”
For a moment Isabel’s teasing grin faded, replaced by something softer, more serious. She gave a small nod, as if she understood more than she was ready to say, then clapped her hands together. “All right. First things first. You’re covered in half the dirt from Silverpine Forest—if you so much as lie down on my mattress looking like that, I’ll have to burn the sheets. Bathroom’s down the corridor, second door to the right. Don’t expect much. It’s shared with the neighbors, but it works.”
She handed Cindy a towel and a plastic basin half-filled with warm water.
Cindy took it in both hands, as though Isabel had placed treasure into her palms. “Thank you,” she whispered again.
The bathroom wasn’t much. The tiles were chipped, the faucet dripped endlessly, and shadows lingered in the corners, but when Cindy poured the water over herself, she felt more alive than she had in days. She scrubbed off the dust, the dried blood, the leaves tangled in her hair. She washed away the memory of rejection and the sting of endless walking under the sun. By the time she stepped back into the room, damp hair falling over her shoulders and the borrowed towel wrapped around her, she felt lighter—reborn.
Isabel glanced up from where she was sitting cross-legged on the mattress. “Better. You look less like a zombie now.”
Cindy gave her a shy smile. “I feel… human again.”
“Good. Now, are you hungry? I’ve got instant noodles. Not glamorous, but edible.”
Cindy shook her head, patting her stomach. “I’m still full from earlier. Thank you, though.”
“Suit yourself.” Isabel stretched, tossing a packet of noodles aside. “Well, then… bedtime. The mattress is big enough for two if you don’t mind sharing.”
“I don’t,” Cindy said quickly. She hadn’t slept beside someone without fear in years.
Isabel narrowed her eyes playfully. “You sure? Should I tie you up, just in case you… turn into something in the middle of the night?”
Cindy blinked, then let out a short laugh. “No. I promise you I won’t.”
“Hm. I’ll take your word for it.” Isabel flopped onto one side of the mattress, patting the other. “Come on then. No howling, no glowing eyes, or I’m kicking you out.”
Cindy lay down slowly, pulling the blanket over herself. The warmth of the fabric and the quiet hum of the city beyond the window wrapped around her like a lullaby. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she whispered a genuine, unguarded “Goodnight.”
Isabel murmured back, “Goodnight.”
As Cindy closed her eyes, she felt the familiar stirring deep within her chest - Lisa. The wolf’s presence uncurled with a warmth that was almost teasing.
You see? You should listen to me more often, Lisa chuckled softly in her mind. If you hadn’t saved Isabel, you’d still be in the gutters tonight. Cold, hungry… and probably sniffing through trash for scraps.
Cindy couldn’t help a tired laugh. You’re right, she whispered back in thought. Thank you… and goodnight, Lisa.
Goodnight, little one, I can feel you are at peace and that makes me happy. Lisa replied, her voice fading like a comforting echo.
Cindy drifted off with a faint smile - not invisible, not unwanted, but held by the strange beginnings of friendship and the steady loyalty of the wolf within her.
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The Hale home stood in stark contrast - once pristine, now untidy. Plates stacked unwashed in the sink, crumbs littering the table. A layer of dust had begun to creep across the shelves without Cindy’s hand to wipe it away.
Upstairs, Hilda stood at her mirror, brushing her hair with long, sharp strokes. Cedric leaned against the doorway, his face shadowed with unease.
“She’s still not back,” he said finally, breaking the silence.
Hilda didn’t look up. “And the house is still a mess. That’s what worries me.”
Cedric’s voice hardened. “Is that all you think about? The chores? The house? For all those years we brought her up…. she’s our daughter, for God’s sake.”
The brush stilled in Hilda’s hand. Slowly, she turned, her eyes cold and unflinching. “No. She’s not my daughter. She’s just an orphan we dragged in from the forest to scrub floors and wash dishes in exchange for food and a place to call home. If you insist on calling her a daughter, then she’s yours, Cedric. Not mine.”
The silence that followed was thick, final. Cedric’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
And far away, in a run-down apartment, Cindy dreamed for the first time in years without fear. It was the first time Cindy Hale dreamt a happy dream – the first time she smiled in her sleep. And Lisa smiled within her as well.