Chapter 35 Jessie
The first thing Jessie learned about freedom was that it was loud.
Not with sound—though the world did seem to hum constantly—but with choice.
Light.
Space.
Questions no one forced her to answer.
Doors that stayed unlocked.
Windows without bars.
It terrified her.
Jessie sat on the edge of the bed in the recovery house Lucy had insisted on—white walls, soft blankets, a view of the sea that felt too wide to trust.
Her hands rested on her knees, fingers curled inward, as if bracing for impact that never came.
She had survived by shrinking.
By becoming quiet.
Predictable. Invisible.
Now everyone wanted her to expand again.
The therapist said gently, “You don’t have to talk today.”
Jessie nodded but stayed silent anyway.
Silence was still safer than words.
At night, sleep came in fragments.
Jessie would jolt awake convinced she was late, that she’d missed a signal, that punishment was waiting just beyond the door.
Her heart raced until she remembered—slowly—that Lucy was down the hall, that the locks were on the inside, that no one would come.
Sometimes Lucy sat with her on the floor, back against the bed, saying nothing.
That helped more than questions ever could.
“You don’t have to be okay,” Lucy said once.
“You just have to be here.”
Jessie clung to that sentence.
The hardest part was mirrors.
The woman who stared back at her felt like a stranger—older eyes, sharper angles, a stillness that hadn’t belonged to the girl she used to be.
Jessie touched the faint scar at her collarbone, the one she’d earned for refusing to smile.
She didn’t regret it.
But she didn’t know how to carry it either.
Lucas gave her space, which she appreciated.
He was always there—solid, calm, never looming.
When he spoke, it was careful.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he told her one afternoon as they sat on the terrace. “Not gratitude. Not explanations.”
Jessie believed him.
She wanted to feel, something, anything and not to hide but she knew it would take time and that's what they gave her.
Lucy quit her job in the city, Jessie needed her more and everyone understood that. Lucy was there for her, for whenever she needed her. Jessi wasn't ready to see their Mum and Dad yet, they understood she needed time and were just so relieved that she was alive. Reunions and catch ups and future would come when she was ready.
Weeks passed.
Therapy sessions.
Medical appointments.
Long walks where Jessie learned the rhythm of her own breathing again.
Some days she felt almost normal.
Other days she couldn’t bring herself to leave her room.
Lucy never pushed.
One morning, Jessie woke before dawn and realized something had changed.
She wasn’t afraid.
Not happy. Not healed.
But not afraid.
She walked barefoot to the kitchen and made coffee—too strong, the way Lucy liked it.
When Lucy entered, hair messy, eyes still half-asleep, she froze.
“You made coffee,” Lucy said softly.
Jessie nodded. “I remembered how.”
Lucy’s eyes filled, but she didn’t cry.
Later that day, Jessie asked to go outside alone.
Lucy hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Jessie said. Her voice shook—but it held.
She walked down to the beach, sand cool beneath her feet, waves steady and indifferent. Jessie stood there a long time, letting the wind tangle her hair, letting the world exist without demanding anything from her.
For years, survival had been her only identity.
Now she needed something else.
That night, she told Lucy the truth she’d been afraid to voice.
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Lucy took her hands. “Then we figure it out together.”
Jessie swallowed. “I don’t want to be strong all the time.”
“You don’t have to be,” Lucy said. “You already were.”
Lucy was her strength, she understood her better than anyone and thier bond grew stronger and stronger. Together with Lucas and all the help available they would get through this at Jessie's pace. One step at a time.
The nightmares didn’t stop all at once.
Healing didn’t arrive cleanly or quickly.
But Jessie began to notice moments—small ones—where the past loosened its grip.
She laughed one evening and startled herself with the sound.
She slept through an entire night.
She looked in the mirror and didn’t flinch.
One afternoon, Jessie asked Lucy if she could help at one of the shelters.
“Not talking,” she clarified quickly. “Just organizing. Making food. Being useful.”
Lucy smiled. “You don’t need to earn your place.”
“I know,” Jessie said. “But I want to choose it.”
That was the moment Lucy understood.
Jessie wasn’t just surviving anymore.
She was staying.
And for the first time since the night she disappeared, Jessie believed—cautiously, carefully—that the rest of her life might belong to her.
Not untouched.
But hers.