Chapter Text
Her first night in the Millers' home, the start of her new life, begins with a kiss on the forehead from Joel and a night of half-sleep, waking every couple of hours to follow the doctors’ instructions exactly.
For the past nine months, Ellie has been doing her best to ignore the sticky, volatile, venomous feeling that crawls up her throat every time she watches how easily Sarah and her dad exchange even the smallest gestures. A hand on the shoulder, a gentle squeeze, a distracted hug on the way out the door, a kiss on the temple and a reminder to grab a jacket, a playful nose-scrunch and a laugh that rings true, fingers dancing over bare skin while they talk about some happy memory from childhood.
It’s not like she grew up completely starved of physical affection, there were kisses and hugs during those early years she can barely remember; there were foster moms who followed a strict bedtime routine that included tucking her in and kissing her goodnight. But Ellie had always felt like they were doing it because they had to, not because they wanted to.
When she hit that age, the one where she stopped being “cute” and started being nothing more than a source of trouble and headaches, the kisses, the cuddles, the hugs, even the borrowed ones, all disappeared. And even borrowed ones had been better than nothing.
Meeting the Millers taught her that, for them, love was something physical. Not just Sarah and Joel. Tommy, Maria, and Kevin too. Arms draped over shoulders, surprise hugs, loud kisses on the cheek, hands ruffling hair, caressing faces, tickling ribs.
Ellie would watch Joel’s fingers comb gently through Sarah’s hair and think about David’s, yanking hers. Cold, bony, strong fingers. Fingers that left bruises on her skin, pinched her flesh with cruelty, gripped her throat with fury.
Joel’s lips would land softly on Sarah’s skin, radiating warmth and love. David’s lips would press against her ear and vomit hatred. He’d tell her she was born of sin, that evil lived inside her, that every pore on her body was something to be ashamed of.
Days and nights in the basement bled together until they became one long, endless stretch, a frozen moment in time without a beginning or an end. Ellie doesn’t know exactly when she started to believe it was all she deserved.
But she did.
She remembered the afternoons with the Millers. She remembered Kevin hugging his mom, Brianna laughing in her father’s arms, Joel and Sarah smiling in the same way, with the same soft creases at the corners of their eyes, and she’d think she never deserved to be part of that.
Those last few weeks, she’d stolen them. And now she was paying for it.
And that’s how it was meant to be.
“You can live with us if you want, kiddo. My license is all in order,” Joel had told her the day before.
The day before the Before.
The hope blinded her.
And she let herself have what she never should’ve had: hope.
For a handful of hours, she’d dared to believe she could have what she’d never had, as if she were worthy of it. As if her birth hadn’t dragged her mother to the grave. As if her fear hadn’t left Riley lying in a pool of blood.
“You’re not worthy of being treated like a human being, Ellie,” David told her in the basement. “Don’t you see it yet?”
She sees it.
She doesn’t want to.
When did the beatings stop hurting? Or had the pain seeped so deep into her that it simply became part of her?
Ellie missed hugs she’d never received.
The harsh glare of a bare bulb lit the basement dimly, but only when David came down. Only then could Ellie fully register the misery of it all.
If it was James who came in, he moved in the dark.
“Just do what he says, and everything’ll be fine,” he’d whisper to her, almost like a plea, like it hurt him to see her like that, but she couldn’t make sense of it.
Sometimes he’d rub ointment into the bruises she couldn’t hide, like he was trying to redeem himself for being a coward.
At some point, Ellie had stopped trying to form full sentences. But every time she heard footsteps in the dark, and didn’t hear the telltale buzz of electricity sparking to life, she gathered whatever strength she had left and whispered:
“Joel…”
The basement reeked of damp rot, of her own stench, of vomit and blood. Ellie knew she’d become a shell of herself, filthy, broken, and she was disgusted by it.
She hated herself.
If any of the Millers ever saw her like this…
God.
Would they feel the same revulsion she felt inside?
“No one’s looking for you, Ellie. No one cares. They’ll forget you, and it’ll be like you never existed to them. I’m the only one who cares about you, my sweet girl,” David would whisper.
She couldn’t tell what hurt more: the words or the blows.
***
There’s a rocket-shaped lamp on her new nightstand.
The room is full of stuff, but Ellie can’t stop staring at that one thing in particular. Just picturing Joel wearing his work clothes, the flannel shirt, the dirty jeans, the steel-toe boots standing in a Target aisle in the lighting section, trying to decide which lamp she’d like best, it hits her somewhere deep.
It’s hard to think clearly when her head feels like it’s wrapped in fog, blurring everything out. Ellie knows it’s the pain meds (and the ones for anxiety too), and that it’ll pass, but it still unsettles her, or would, if she could actually feel it, that she’s not fully in control of her emotions. At the same time, it’s kind of a relief. Like resting with her eyes open.
The day’s been a lot to take in.
Good intense, if she had to put it into words.
She wishes she could sit down and go through every single thing that happened: the discharge from the hospital, Tess and the bomber jacket she gave her, the Millers throwing her a welcome-home party, Brianna in her arms laughing like no time had passed, but it’s too much effort.
At some point, there’s a knock at the door, and Ellie stops staring at the lamp.
“You okay, Ellie? Need help getting into your PJs?”
That’s when she realizes she’s still wearing the clothes from the hospital. She glances at Sarah, then down at herself. How long has it been since Joel and Sarah showed her the room?
Sarah steps inside and pulls open a drawer, taking out a brand-new pajama set.
“You like it?” she asks, holding it up.
It’s Savage Starlight.
Ellie’s never had pajamas like this before.
Most of the time, she’d just worn old gym clothes. And when it wasn’t that it was pajamas someone else picked out for her, or whatever happened to be her size in the foster care clothing bin. Licensed character pajamas always cost more than regular ones.
She nods.
Sarah sits beside her on the bed and reaches toward her. The movement is sudden, and Ellie flinches.
“Oh, fuck, sorry. I was just gonna help you take this off,” she says, pointing to the shirt Ellie’s wearing.
It’s a snap-button shirt, meant to make dressing and undressing easier. Ellie doesn’t know where it came from (Tess gave it to her that morning) but she has no idea who it belongs to or where to return it.
She nods again to let Sarah know it’s okay, and the girl starts unfastening the snaps gently.
When the bruising on her side is revealed, both of them freeze, staring.
Over the past few days, it’s spread and lost its original boot-sole shape. In a way, it’s almost a relief not to recognize it anymore.
“Goddamnit, Ellie…” Sarah mutters, frustration in her voice.
Only then does Ellie realize this might be the first time Sarah’s actually seen the bruise. It’s been hidden all this time.
“It doesn’t hurt as much as it looks,” Ellie says with a small smile.
It’s a lie. It hurts like hell, even if she doesn’t feel it right now. It did hurt. And it will again.
She’s quietly grateful her right forearm is still bandaged so Sarah can’t see the mark he left there, the one that will never fade. The bruises will disappear, the cuts and scrapes will heal, but what’s on her arm… they’ve already told her that’s permanent. The skin will never be smooth again. There will always be a visible trace of what happened.
Sarah helps her pull the pajama top over her head and guides her arms into the sleeves. Ellie feels utterly useless.
“Can you handle the jeans on your own?” Sarah asks.
Ellie nods, though in the end Sarah has to help her a little, tugging the legs down gently, her ankle’s still swollen, and she can’t bear weight on it to take them off herself.
“Well, do you need anything else?”
“I think I need to use the bathroom.”
“Okay. I’ll help you.”
Ellie knows the weeks in the basement wrecked her physically. The way Sarah manages to lift her just by sliding an arm under her armpits is kind of shocking.
“Don’t put weight on the ankle. Lean on me,” she says firmly.
In the bathroom, Ellie avoids the mirror. She already saw herself back at the hospital, and she hadn’t liked what she saw. She uses the toilet with the lights off.
“Ellie, you okay in there?” Sarah knocks on the door.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming…”
She must’ve zoned out longer than she thought. She flushes, pulls up her space-themed pajama pants, then unhooks the lock and lets her friend come to the rescue again.
In the hallway, Ellie can’t help glancing toward Sarah’s bedroom. It’s closer to the bathroom than the room they gave her. The door is ajar, and she can see part of the inside. She’s spent a lot of time in there these past months. She likes it, even if it’s a little too pink and glittery for her taste.
“Wanna sleep in my room tonight?” Sarah gives her arm a squeeze.
Ellie looks at her.
She knows she thought about Sarah a lot while she was in the basement.
It had all started as an agreement. Quid pro quo, Sarah had said. She needed her family to believe she was making friends. Ellie just needed more time away from David. It had been easy, at first. She didn’t have to try too hard to be liked (Ellie had never been good at being liked) and only had to make sure she wasn’t too much of a burden (which she was good at, because that was something she was used to).
But things hadn’t gone according to plan, and somehow, Ellie still doesn’t know exactly when, conversations had started slipping through the silence between them, and they revealed someone completely different from the image she’d built in her mind. Sarah was incredibly smart, with the sharpest sense of humor Ellie had ever encountered, and a fierce sense of loyalty. At some point, though Ellie couldn’t say when, Sarah had made it her mission to be her friend (really be her friend) and deal with everything that came with it. Sarah knew how to keep secrets and give advice. She knew when Ellie wanted to joke and when it was better to just stay quiet.
Sarah also knew that Ellie would never ask for anything, because she never knew if she was crossing a line.
“I don’t think I’ll sleep well alone tonight,” Sarah added when Ellie didn’t say anything.
“Okay. We can sleep together,” she agreed.
***
The first few times Ellie spent the night at the Millers’, months ago now, she slept on an air mattress at the foot of Sarah’s bed. It was a good air mattress. Comfortable. Joel had been worried it might deflate during the night and she’d end up on the floor, or that it wouldn’t be insulated enough and she’d get cold while sleeping.
“Stop being so picky, Dad. We’ll just sleep in my bed and that’s it,” Sarah had declared one night.
And they never brought out the air mattress again.
Ellie was used to sharing small spaces with other girls.
In Boston, with Riley, it was normal for the two of them to end up crammed together on the top bunk, reading comics or whispering so quietly the Kwongs wouldn’t hear and split them up.
“In Austin, we used to squeeze three into the same bed during sleepovers,” Sarah had told her once.
It was funny how something that felt rare and intimate to Sarah (sleeping next to girls she wasn’t related to) was so normal to Ellie. She hadn’t had a room of her own in years. Not until David.
Sarah’s bed is soft and smells like her. She lets Ellie slide under the blanket first, then climbs in beside her. It’s not a full-size mattress, so they’re a little squished, but not uncomfortably so.
“All good?”
“Yeah.” Ellie presses her back against the wall.
In the basement, all she had were four wire walls: the bars of a makeshift cage.
Sarah switches off the light and curls up next to her, eyes fixed on Ellie’s face. Ellie doesn’t meet her gaze. She’s staring up at the ceiling instead. It feels cozy and overwhelming all at once.
“Ellie…”
“Mmm?”
“I’m so fucking glad you were able to make that call… We were really worried, okay? We’ve been looking for you nonstop…”
That’s weird. That’s not what David told her.
They don’t need you. You mean nothing to them.
Sarah’s hand finds hers under the sheets. It’s warm. Soft. Kind. Ellie lets her give a gentle squeeze and lace their fingers together.
“You’re brave as hell, El,” Sarah says firmly.
Ellie’s mind feels fogged over. Like it’s full of smoke. Or clouds. A tiny voice in her head tries to remind her clouds are just water in different states, but the intrusive thought that they’re made of cotton candy is louder. Yeah. It feels like her head is stuffed with cotton candy.
Sarah’s words sound distant, like she’s speaking from the end of a long tunnel. She’s saying kind things-Ellie knows that-but all she can do is trace slow circles over the back of Sarah’s hand with her thumb.
She can’t stop thinking about Hannah White. Did she feel anything like this before she died? Did she have a friend to hold her hand, to tell her things would be okay, the way Sarah is doing now? Or did she die knowing no one would ever come looking?
“From now on, everything’s going to be okay,” Sarah assures her. “Dad, Uncle Tommy, and Maria-they’ve got it all covered. You won’t have to go anywhere else. You like that, right?”
There’s something almost desperate in Sarah’s voice. Ellie feels a pang of guilt.
She can’t blame her. Sarah’s never had to deal with the foster system.
“With this kind of stuff, you can’t be sure. They might decide to move me somewhere ‘more appropriate.’” If she had the energy, she’d make air quotes.
“That’s not gonna happen. My dad would never allow it, Ellie. He worked so hard to bring you home…”
“Sarah, it’s not that simple. It’s easy to relocate me once I become too much…”
Ellie doesn’t want to think about the judge in Boston right now. Is her probation still in effect? She was supposed to keep perfect attendance and get decent grades. Missing the first two weeks of school probably won’t help her case.
“You’re not going anywhere, Ellie. This is your place. You have no idea how much paperwork, and training, and crap my dad had to go through to get you moved in with us…” Sarah insists.
It’s touching how badly Sarah wants her to feel safe.
Ellie feels a knot rising in her throat. She wishes she could agree, say yes, say that everything’s going to be fine from now on, that no one’s coming to tear them apart, that they’ll graduate together, side by side.
But she can’t.
It’s been fourteen years of the same cycle.
“Sarah, you don’t get it… When you realize I’m full of shit… No one wants that in their home. Not forever.”
“No. Shut up. We’re not going to leave y-”
She stops suddenly. Sarah’s heard something outside the room that Ellie hasn’t.
“Dad? Is that you?”
Joel steps in. Sarah sits up and switches on the light. He looks a little shy all of a sudden. Ellie stays curled against the wall-she can’t really move much. Joel looks at them both with a mix of exhaustion and… warmth? She’s not sure what kind of look it is exactly, but it’s the same one he’s been giving her since she woke up in the hospital.
“…you need to be careful with your ribs, Ellie. You know you need rest and-” Ellie hasn’t caught the beginning of the sentence, but she doesn’t need to.
“Relax, dude, this is a thousand times better than the floor of a ca…ge.”
It sounded more casual in her head, but as the word cage slipped out, Ellie felt a drop in her stomach like she’d missed a step in the dark.
“I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“I’ll come back later to give you your medication, okay? In the meantime… sweet dreams.”
Joel leans over Sarah and presses a kiss to her forehead.
Ellie watches from inches away, and the envy burns.
She vaguely remembers Joel calling her “baby girl” at some point in the hospital, but she can’t be sure. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. She’s never been that kind of daughter. Pseudo-daughter. Foster daughter. Whatever.
She and Riley used to roll their eyes whenever the Kwongs called their biological kids things like:
“My little slice of heaven.”
“My precious angel.”
But when Joel says baby girl to Sarah, he says it with so much love Ellie can’t help but wish someone would say it to her, too.
Then, it happens.
Joel leans in and kisses her near the hairline-just above the swollen, red wound. He can’t quite reach her forehead with Sarah in the way, and Ellie’s practically fused with the wall, but still. The warmth spreads through her whole body.
It’s just a damn goodnight kiss.
She can’t even remember the last one she got.
And now Joel’s given her this one.
If her brain weren’t so numb, she might cry.
***
True to his word, Joel comes back at exactly two fourteen in the morning.
Ellie knows the time because she sees it on the soft glow of Sarah’s digital wristwatch in the dark. She’s been watching the digits change, minute by minute, for more than an hour and a half, and then she must have dozed off, because she wakes to the sound of Joel’s voice, low and careful, trying not to startle them.
“It’s me, girls.”
But Sarah doesn’t stir, still fast asleep. She’s wrapped around Ellie like a koala clinging to a tree branch, and her ribs ache a little from the way Sarah’s arms are draped over her. The pain meds from earlier have worn off, and now Ellie is fully aware of every inch of her body. The cuts throb and the bruises ache.
She lifts her hand slightly to let Joel know she’s awake
“Time for your meds, kiddo,” he says.
Ellie looks at Sarah, then up at him, hesitant. She can’t move with the other girl sprawled on top of her. Joel shakes his head gently, sets a glass of water and a small pill organizer on the nightstand, then leans in to try and untangle Sarah. But even half-asleep, she grumbles and clings tighter to Ellie.
“Hey, baby, let Ellie breathe, she needs her meds,” Joel says, giving Sarah a soft shake on the shoulder.
“S’t’s too early,” she mumbles, “no… school…”
“Sarah,” Joel says again, carefully peeling her arms away.
This time, Sarah doesn’t fight it. She rolls over and turns her back to Ellie.
“Mission accomplished,” Joel says with a wink. “Can you sit up a little?
Ellie can, but her ribs protest. She clenches her jaw as a sharp pain slices through her side.
“Shhh, easy now…”
She manages to lean against the headboard and the wall, barely upright, and accepts the water and pills Joel hands her.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like I got my ass kicked, dude,” she replies automatically, eyes rolling slightly, but the moment she hears the sadness in Joel’s voice, the regret layered under it, she feels bad.
“That was a dumb question. Sorry, kiddo. Here, eat something. It’s not good to take meds on an empty stomach.”
Ellie doesn’t know where he got the piece of cake he offers her, but she takes it. It’s blueberry and walnut, and she’d swear Maria made it. Or at least it tastes like hers. It’s good cake-soft and sweet, with just the right touch of butter and cinnamon.
“Good? Need anything?”
Is he asking generally, or just right now? Ellie needs a lot of things. She needs to forget the way the cold and damp in the basement crept over her skin like death coming to claim her. She needs to forget the hum of the freezers, the smell of her own blood, the sound of David’s boots on the stairs.
“I’m good,” is all she says.
She even dares to smile at him. It’s faint, and almost painful, like her facial muscles have forgotten how to do it.
“Keep sleeping, kiddo. I’m right next door if you need me.”
Sarah snorts softly in her sleep. Joel smooths a hand over her hair, then turns back toward Ellie. The girl watches as Sarah opens her eyes just a crack, enough to look at her for a moment, then drapes an arm back over her and lets out a long sigh as she drifts off again.
Ellie has no choice but to rest her forehead against Sarah’s and close her eyes.
***
For the next four hours, Ellie drifts in and out of a fevered, anguished haze with no control over it.
Sometimes she senses David in the room and tries to scream, but no sound comes out. It’s like she can see him leaning over them, hands stretched out like claws toward Sarah. Other times, he just stands at the edge of the bed, wordlessly telling her he’s come to take her. Panic closes around her throat, but she can’t move.
When David finally disappears, Riley takes his place. She laughs, and the sound echoes through the room. Ellie can’t see her-she can only hear her.
And she’s cruel.
“What happens when they get tired of you? Who’re you gonna run to? I’m dead. You killed me, Ellie. You said you loved me, but you killed me. Are you gonna kill her too?”
Sarah’s watch reads six twenty-one in the morning when Ellie finally feels like herself again. Her friend hasn’t stirred once through the night, and Ellie doesn’t want to wake her. Ignoring the pain in her ribs, she climbs over Sarah, careful not to put weight on her sprained ankle.
Hopping on one foot, using the furniture for support, she slips out of the room silently. She tries putting weight on her foot once, just once, but pain shoots from her heel to her hip so sharply it erases the idea instantly.
Every hop makes her ribs scream in protest, so she gives up and goes down the stairs the most humiliating way she can think of-sitting and dragging herself step by step, trying to balance her weight with her arms to soften the jolts.
“Ellie? What the hell…?”
She hadn’t counted on Joel being awake downstairs.
When he appears in the entryway, frowning in confusion, Ellie feels like she could vanish from sheer embarrassment.
“Thought you’d be sleeping,” she mutters.
“I’m an early bird, kiddo. Hey, wait, don’t move a muscle.”
Ellie has always been small, and she knows it. One of the shortest in her class, always among the weakest. She used to hope for some sudden growth spurt, something dramatic, but she’s long since accepted that it’s not coming. Even so, when Joel scoops her up like she weighs nothing, it still catches her off guard. His knees don’t even creak. He doesn’t groan about his back.
But the problem is that, even though she can see Joel right there, inches from her face, and knows it’s him holding her, her body doesn’t register it. It’s like it can’t connect his arms to his presence.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, kiddo, fuck, I’m so sorry,” Joel says, the moment he feels her start to tremble. “Fuck.”
She remembers a foster couple from when she was eight or nine, obsessed with some quiz show on TV. They were older-maybe in their seventies-and every night they’d sit down with their dinners on those infomercial lap trays and stare at the screen without blinking.
In the show, the contestant had to answer trivia questions while holding a balloon that kept inflating. If they got it right, they passed the balloon to the other team. If they didn’t, they had to keep it-and either answer again or wait for it to burst.
Ellie feels like that balloon now, while Joel circles the living room muttering “fuck fuck fuck fuck” over and over with her in his arms. Eventually, he seems to remember they have a perfectly usable couch and nearly drops her onto it.
“Fuck,” he says again. “You okay, kiddo? I shouldn’t’ve picked you up like that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Ellie hates that her body is still shaking, that it refuses to accept Joel is safe. He looks devastated. Guilty.
“What can I do for you? What hurts?”
Everything. Her ribs and her foot. Her arm. All her muscles ache like she’s been training for a weightlifting competition.
“I’m fine, Joel. It’s not… it’s not you,” she says when she’s sure her voice won’t betray her.
Still, Joel stays almost two feet away from the couch. Ellie wishes he’d come closer, wishes he’d kiss her forehead again like he did the night before. That would be nice.
“Did you sleep okay? I hope Sarah let you rest a little.”
“Yeah,” she nods too quickly. She knows the lie is obvious, so she adds, “Better than I’ve slept in a while.”
Joel pulls a blanket from a basket by the fireplace and offers it to her. Ellie recognizes it-she’s used it on this couch so many times, watching movies with Sarah.
“Comfy? Want more pillows?”
“I’m good, dude. Really. Look, I’m not moving around, I’ve got my foot up, I’m resting-being, like, a grade-A convalescent here.”
Joel seems satisfied.
“We’ve got a couple hours till your next dose, but I can give you an ibuprofen if anything’s really hurting,” he offers.
Ellie shakes her head.
“No need.”
“It’s not about need, kiddo. You don’t have to be in pain if we can help it. Want juice to go with the pill? Apple or grapefruit?”
“Grapefruit juice is fucking disgusting.”
“Apple it is.”
The couch feels familiar and safe. Ellie curls up between the armrest and the back cushions, wrapping herself in the blanket like a burrito. She listens to Joel putter around in the kitchen. She hears the cupboard open as he searches for a specific mug. Then the fridge. Twice. Probably because the first apple juice carton was almost empty.
She likes that all these sounds feel familiar. She’s heard them for months now.
“Your juice and your ibuprofen, madame,” Joel says, bowing slightly as he returns.
Ellie smiles when she sees the NASA mug-the same one that just kind of appeared in the Millers’ kitchen a few months back.
“You can watch whatever you want on TV, but maybe try to get a little more sleep,” he suggests gently.
Ellie doesn’t answer. She just sips from the mug in small, quiet gulps.
“I’ll make pancakes in a bit. You want that? Or I can go pick up French toast from Tess’s diner if you prefer. Whatever you want, kiddo.”
“No, you don’t have to go. I mean, if you want to see Tess, sure. But don’t do it for me. Pancakes are fine. Sarah loves them.”
“Yeah, but you like the French toast better,” Joel replies without missing a beat.
She really does. Especially the kind Tess makes-perfect texture and flavor. Not too soggy, not too sweet. She always gets them when they go there for breakfast. Well, Tess always just brings them to her.
“The usual?” she always asks, though it’s already on the plate.
French toast and juice for her. Coffee and eggs with bacon for Joel.
It’s a good routine. The best she’s ever had-knowing Tess will be there with her favorite breakfast and a smile, and Joel will sip his coffee, get in a better mood, and then she can tell him it smells like burnt garbage. He’ll laugh. Tess will offer her a taste with too much milk. And Ellie will say over her dead body.
She wonders if these small moments feel as special to Joel as they do to her. She doesn’t know. But he remembers she likes Tess’s French toast, and that’s something.
“Pancakes are fine, really. We can go get French toast and see Tess as soon as I’m allowed to walk more than two steps.”
Joel smiles. A real one. His eyes light up.
“That’s a mighty good idea, kiddo.”
“Like all my ideas, old man.”
While he cooks, Ellie drifts in and out of sleep on the couch. The TV is on, but the cartoons blur into her dreams in a strange, half-conscious haze.
***
Sarah wakes up just as breakfast is ready.
“Thought you’d evaporated,” she says softly, a gentle tease, but Ellie can tell she means it.
“Ta-fucking-da,” Ellie says, spreading her arms like she just pulled off a magic trick. “Teleportation, baby.”
Sarah snorts through her nose, then gestures for her to make room on the couch. Ellie doesn’t resist. Sarah still carries the warmth of someone freshly out of bed. She leans her head on Ellie’s shoulder and doesn’t comment on what’s playing on the TV, even though Ellie knows it’s not one of her favorites.
The Kwong daughters never let them watch what they wanted. Not even Bethany, and Bethany was clearly Mr. and Mrs. Kwong’s favorite. Riley and Ellie had been sure she was going to stay there for good.
Joel brings them breakfast on one of those trays with little legs so they can eat on the couch. Ellie feels like she’s being pampered too much, but deep down, she melts at the gesture-no one’s ever treated her like this before. The pancakes are warm and fluffy, some with chocolate chips, others with bits of blueberry.
“Do you girls want anything else?”
Even though she’s known the Millers for months now, Ellie still finds it strange how they always ask if she wants more food. And she knows-if she said yes, Joel would go to the kitchen and bring her something else. Something delicious. Something he knows she likes.
“I’m full,” she says anyway.
She doesn’t want to bite the hand that feeds her.
***
he morning passes slowly but inevitably. Joel brings her the meds, and she takes them reluctantly.
The effect is almost immediate.
The pain dulls to almost nothing, but her head turns into a cloud (because she can’t think of any other way to describe it-she’s sure that the feeling of emptiness and weightlessness must be exactly what a cloud would feel if it could feel anything), and everything seems to move in slow motion.
Sarah finds it funny but stays attentive and gentle with her. She brings comics and her laptop to the living room so Ellie can stay entertained, but Ellie can’t read-the letters dance across the page-so Sarah ends up taking over, reading out loud.
She does voices for each character, which makes Ellie laugh. Or at least she tries to. She doesn’t have the energy to laugh properly, so it comes out more like the sound of a balloon deflating.
“You don’t like my Daniela Star voice?” Sarah teases.
“I like your Captain Ryan voice better. It suits you.”
Sarah pretends to be offended but just exhales and rests her head on Ellie’s shoulder.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
Ellie doesn’t know how to explain that it’s the kind of pain she doesn’t mind enduring at all, so she simply says no.
***
Joel spends a lot of time on the phone.
Ellie hears him in the background but can’t focus on anything he says. His voice is distant, and she’s too clouded by medication to process it.
A thousand questions float in her head, but organizing them feels impossible. Sarah notices, of course-she’s that observant.
“The grown-ups haven’t wanted to tell me much,” Sarah apologizes quietly. “They say some things are for them to deal with alone.”
Ellie wonders if not telling Sarah about David’s murder makes it one of those things.
“Hannah?”
Sarah shakes her head.
The night before, the news had reported that Hannah’s remains were found in David’s basement. The search had been called off over a year ago, dismissed as a voluntary disappearance.
Hannah had been a grade ahead of Jesse and Cat, but nobody knew her beyond what was necessary as classmates.
Ellie wonders if Hannah was ever locked in that makeshift cage like she was-if she endured the same horrors before she died.
“Uncle Tommy has been talking to the FBI and the police almost nonstop. And Maria, of course. You should see her. She’s switched into full lawyer mode. But they haven’t told me anything,” Sarah says with resigned hurt.
She leans her head on Ellie’s shoulder, and Ellie rests her cheek in Sarah’s hair.
“It’s okay,” Ellie comforts her.
“FBI agents came Wednesday to ask us questions,” Sarah admits, keeping her head down so Ellie can’t read her expression. “We told them the pastor was an asshole. I think they talked to Maria and Tommy Thursday, or maybe Wednesday, I’m not sure. We all said the same: he was bad to you.”
Ellie nods slowly, unsure how to respond. Then she realizes, mortified, that she’s not even sure what day it is. Sarah being home in the morning with Joel does hint that it might be Sunday, but maybe not. They could have just taken the day off. Maybe it’s a holiday, though she can’t remember any in September. Assuming it’s still September. Of course, it is September.
“What day is it today?” she asks to change the subject.
Sarah sits up, crinkling her nose. She opens and closes her mouth, then stands to go to the kitchen. When she returns, she’s holding the fridge calendar they use to mark important dates. She sits back down beside Ellie, legs pulled in close.
“Dad said you could live with us starting on this day” Sarah points to the last Saturday in August“ and on Monday you didn’t go back to school. And here” she taps the calendar “is when you called me.”
That’s the Saturday of the following week. Two weeks ago.
Ellie runs her eyes over each square, counting the days in her head. They look like so many on paper, although to them those weeks felt both endless and fleeting. She wonders when she stopped counting time-maybe the first Wednesday, or the next one. Or a Thursday. Or that same Monday.
“Here’s when they released you from the hospital,” Sarah says while pointing to a Friday.
Fridays have never been her favorite. Most people love them-they spell the weekend and that vacation-like freedom. For Ellie, who always preferred school to any foster home she’s been in, they just mark the start of two long, tedious days.
“So that means today is Saturday.”
“I worked that out myself,” she mutters through clenched teeth.
“The doctors said it’s normal to feel disoriented,” Sarah offers, voice gentle.
Ellie frowns.
Doctors have said plenty of things-some to her face, most behind her back. Two weeks locked up doesn’t suddenly make her an idiot.
“I heard Uncle Tommy telling Dad that the FBI might want to talk to…”
“Monday or Tuesday,” Sarah finishes, quietly like she’s sharing a secret.
“Aha,” Ellie whispers. Maybe she is an idiot. At least a little.
She imagines herself in an orange jumpsuit for life, while upstairs her new pajamas go unused.
She stares back at the calendar and suddenly the days blur together. She came to the Millers two weeks ago-but it already feels like forever-and now she misses everyone: Tess and Teddy, Maria, Tommy, Kevin, Brianna. She even missed them in the basement, but at the same time it felt like she’d never really known them.
“You don’t need to catch up on everything all at once,” Sarah soothes. “It’s okay if you need time. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Ellie thinks Sarah must have grown up surrounded by certainties Ellie never had. Time is one of them.
***
Kevin is seven years old and sometimes he can be a real pain.
Other times, though, he’s the sweetest, most lovable kid on the planet.
This is one of those times.
"Hi, cousin Ellie!"
It’s almost noon, maybe later. Ellie isn’t really keeping track of the time. Joel had said something about needing to take care of something and then disappeared into the kitchen again, but she has no idea how long ago that was.
At some point, someone knocks on the door. At first, neither she nor Sarah moves. Maybe it’s just a flyer. But the knocking continues. They both glance down the hallway toward the kitchen, and when they don’t hear Joel heading over, Sarah gets up with an exasperated sigh to answer it.
Ellie doesn’t even need to turn around to know it’s Maria and the kids. Kevin flings himself over the back of the couch, and his shaved head pops up behind Ellie like an eclipse. In the middle of the summer, he saw a photo of Tommy back in his army days and wanted to look just like him, so Maria cut off his cornrows. Now the kid sports a shiny, round head.
"Kevin Benjamin, what did I tell you before we left the house?"
Kevin rolls his eyes."I’m being super careful, Mom," he insists.
"Aren’t you going to say anything to me?" Sarah chimes in playfully from behind him.
"You’re not my new cousin," he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Ellie is."
Titles are something Ellie hasn’t had time to think about. Not even when Joel first said she could move in with them. Over the years, she’s had dozens of moms and dads, or mothers and fathers. And brothers and sisters. Grandparents. Aunts and uncles. Cousins. Always with foster in front. Always marking the temporary nature of it. Some families insisted on the full charade. Others were clearly uncomfortable if a stranger-kid called them the same thing their biological children did.
So Ellie just adapted with each new placement. Joel never mentioned what he expected her to call him, and honestly, she thinks it’d be weird to start calling him Dad. Or even Mr. Miller. So no title for Joel means no titles for anyone else.
But Kevin called her cousin. Twice. Just cousin.
That’s nice.
"Did I hurt you, Ellie?" the boy asks her directly, a little scared, like he’s just now realizing he might have.
"Of course not, brat. I’m good."
Kevin’s grin takes up most of his tiny face.
"How’s it going, girls?"
Maria walks in carrying Brianna snug against her chest in a baby wrap. The baby is alert, looking around at the voices. Sarah leans in and kisses the soft little dark curls starting to grow on her head.
Joel appears with a dish towel over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
"Anybody want lemonade?"
Four sets of eyes land on him, staring.
"You don’t know how to make lemonade, Uncle Joel."
"Sure I do. It’s not that hard."
Turns out, it kind of is.
The lemonade is way too watery, there are clumps of pulp floating in it, and Joel definitely overdid it with the sugar.
Everyone tries a few sips, then quietly sets their cups aside. In the end, Sarah brings out sodas and juice boxes.
***
At first, everyone seems to be trying their best to keep the conversation light and cordial. Maria takes Brianna out of the baby wrap and gently places her on Ellie’s lap. Ellie secures the baby with one arm and coos at her, which earns delighted giggles and little squeals that sound like heaven. Sarah tries to get her sister’s attention, but Brianna only seems to have eyes for Ellie, and that fills her with a small, quiet sense of pride.
Maria asks easy questions-the kind Ellie can answer without much thought-though she gets the sense the woman is laying the groundwork for something more serious.
Yes, she’s slept a little. Yes, she’s taken all her medication right on schedule because Joel wouldn’t let her be a single minute late with any of it. Yes, she’s been resting and hasn’t moved from the couch. Yes, she had breakfast.
When the little interrogation is over, Maria leans back in her armchair as if satisfied. She exchanges a cryptic look with Joel, and then they both glance toward Sarah and Kevin. What happens next doesn’t surprise Ellie.
"Why don’t you take Kevin and Brianna upstairs for a bit, Sarah?" her father suggests, too cheerfully.
Sarah frowns and crosses her arms.
"I want to know what you’re going to tell Ellie too."
"Sarah, do as I’m asking."
"That’s not fair! Ellie doesn’t mind if I stay, right?" She turns to her pleadingly, and Ellie sinks slightly into the couch.
Maybe Maria’s going to tell her it’s time to pack her things, because someone who’s smashed a man’s face in can’t just walk around free. She’ll go to prison. She’ll never see sunlight again. Never see anyone.
She once read an interview with a man who went to prison when he was really young and never came out. He said he didn’t understand the outside world anymore-that life beyond the four walls of his cell no longer made sense.
Ellie doesn’t have big dreams, but she has a few. She wants to finish school. She wants to learn how to drive. She wants to rent her own apartment and fill her fridge with only the things she loves. She wants to adopt a pet and give it a stupid, adorable name.
She won’t get to do any of that behind bars.
"I’ll tell you everything later," she promises.
It’ll be easier to soften the truth that way.
***
Ellie misses the warm weight of Brianna in her arms the very second Sarah picks the baby up and leaves the room, grumbling, with Kevin close behind-she’s promised to let him snoop around in her room.
Maria sits down next to Ellie on the couch, turned toward her but keeping a respectful distance. Ellie curls even tighter into her corner. Her ribs hurt, but she ignores them. So does her head. Her foot. Her forearm.
Joel stays standing, leaning some of his weight on the fireplace.
"Do you remember when you asked me at the hospital what was going to happen to you?" Maria begins.
Ellie does, though not clearly. It must have been her second or third day in the hospital, and she’d been very doped up. Her memories of the basement were a blur-flashes of disjointed images and isolated sensations she still can’t quite line up in order.
The one thing she remembers with absolute clarity is that she killed David.
A machete and his face.
"I'm going to cut you into tiny little pieces," he’d told her. "But first..."
He never got the chance to finish his threat. Ellie made sure of that.
She tore him to shreds.
She doesn't regret it. She's not going to lie about that. But she does wish it hadn't happened because she can still feel the warm blood splatter across her face, still feel bits of flesh in her hair. The blade getting stuck in his flesh, the force she had to use to yank it free. She remembers thinking of that time Tommy had taken her and Sarah to demolish a kitchen before it got remodeled. He gave them each a hammer and let them smash whatever they wanted. That day was fun. They got to scream and break things, and laughed themselves silly at how ridiculous they looked with goggles and gloves and hard hats.
Killing David also meant hitting with everything she had, but it didn’t come with any of the adrenaline or joy from that afternoon.
She can’t picture what was left of him.
It’s the most brutal, violent act she can imagine.
Normal girls don’t do that. They don’t kill their foster parents.
But Ellie’s not a normal girl.
"Am I going to prison?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper.
It’s strange, but it’s always been a possibility in the back of her mind. The statistics say it’s likely. She knew that even back when that judge in Boston told her she was close to becoming a lost cause.
Prison can't be worse than David's basement but she knows she'd miss a lot. And a lot of people.
"No! No, sweetheart, you're not going anywhere," Maria takes her hands in hers. "They’re not going to charge you for what happened. It was self-defense, and that’s been proven."
Ellie looks over at Joel, confused, but he gives her a small nod. He already knew.
"So… they’re not sending me somewhere else?"
"No, Ellie." Maria strokes her hands with her thumbs. "I also spoke to the lawyer who handled your case in Boston, and you don’t need to worry about that sentence anymore. It’s gone. You have no criminal record. Joel will be your guardian until you turn eighteen. No one is taking you away, sweetheart."
Ellie glances at Joel again. He nods. He knew this too.
"At least until you turn eighteen," he adds quickly. "And as long as you want after that, kiddo. This isn’t some countdown."
Ellie feels her heart pounding in her throat.
She’s not going to prison.
"I fucking murdered him," she says, holding her breath.
"There’s a big difference between cold-blooded murder and defending yourself, Ellie," Maria tells her. It’s her lawyer voice. "No one who’s seen the evidence could accuse you of premeditation. That’s why no one has."
Ellie frowns.
"So that’s it? It’s over?"
It’s a strange feeling in her body. She doesn’t know if she should feel relieved or anxious. The future she’d imagined in a jail cell starts to fade, replaced by one where Joel keeps making undrinkable lemonade. And that’s… not a future she’d ever pictured for herself.
Maria and Joel exchange a glance. Maria is the one who speaks.
"Not exactly. There will be a trial," she explains.
"But he’s fucking dead," Ellie retorts.
David will never touch her again. What more justice could there be?
"He didn’t act alone. He had accomplices, and they deserve to be held accountable," Maria says firmly.
Ellie thinks of James bringing her food. And sponges. And patching up her wounds awkwardly. A grown man, afraid.
Then Maria’s words sink in.
"Accomplices? More than one? I thought it was just James..."
She looks to Joel for answers. He knows.
"James told the police the cook knew everything."
Even if it doesn’t surprise her, Ellie still feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water down her back.
Mrs. Tyson had always hated her. That was obvious. She worshipped David. Worshipped. And she’d always seen Ellie as some kind of demon. Hated her voice, her footsteps in the house, the way she didn’t flinch at the blows. Said she had the devil in her. David would slap her, and Ellie would stare back. Mrs. Tyson would say the only way to beat the evil out of her was to literally beat her.
"Does she know he’s dead?" Ellie asks flatly.
Joel nods.
"Good."
Ellie presses her lips together. She can feel a panic attack forming. Maybe it’s because she realizes that if it had been up to the cook, she’d still be chained up in that basement.
Joel seems to notice too. He moves the coffee table out of the way and crouches in front of her. One of his large hands rests on her knee. Ellie focuses on that. Breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth.
"The FBI wants to talk to you on Monday," Maria continues. "Marlene’s coming from Boston, but you have the right to choose who’s with you during the interview. She’ll say it has to be her, but I want you to know that’s not true, Ellie. It’s your choice."
Ellie nods slightly to show she’s listening.
"They’re going to ask you a lot of questions, but you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to," Maria says. "You’re not a suspect. You’re not under arrest. You’re the victim, and they’re doing this to help you."
"Okay. Got it."
Joel gives her knee a gentle squeeze.
"Any questions?"
Ellie thinks for a moment.
"When can I get my stuff back? I-I didn’t have much, but I don’t want to lose… There are some things that matter. I don’t want them lost."
David made everyone think she’d run away. Maybe he threw her stuff out to sell the lie. The thought makes her stomach churn.
"The house is still a… it’s still under investigation. But I promise I’ll talk to the police and as soon as they let me, someone will go get what you need, kiddo," Joel assures her.
"I don’t want strangers going through my things," Ellie mutters.
"I’ll go myself," he offers. "Just tell me what you want me to look for, and I will."
"My mom’s switchblade and Riley’s necklace," she says quickly, without thinking. "And the Will Livingston book."
Everything else can rot, wherever David dumped it.
"I promise I’ll do everything I can to get it all back, kiddo."
"Thanks, old man."
***
Ellie likes being clean.
Maybe that seems oddly specific, but when you grow up in dozens of different homes, with dozens of different families-each with their own ideas about personal hygiene, how many showers are necessary each week, whether citrus-scented body wash is essential-cleanliness becomes complicated.
David, in particular, treated showers like military drills: no more than four minutes, lukewarm water, every other day, unscented soap only. Conditioner was a needless luxury and cheap supermarket shampoo was fine for her hair type.
On the rare occasions she got a shower at the Millers’ over those months, she always felt like she was taking advantage, so she rushed through it and only touched Sarah’s shampoo and body wash.
During her time locked in the basement, David allowed her only one bathroom visit a day and left a bucket in a corner, which she refused to use. A few times James brought her those damp sponge cloths to soap up with, but they only cleaned her arms and face slightly.
Her first two days in the hospital passed in a fog. She can’t remember who cleaned the blood off her, but on the third day Tess told her she would help her take a proper shower. A nurse brought a plastic stool so she wouldn’t have to stand. Ellie clung to a metal rail to keep her balance while Tess moved quickly and efficiently. It wasn’t pleasant-her ribs hurt, her wounds stung and she felt dizzy-but she felt clean for the first time in ages.
“This is fucking weird, dude,” she mutters under her breath.
She never thought she'd end up lying flat on the Millers’ kitchen countertop, a towel rolled under her neck, head in the sink so Maria can wash her hair properly. But it was Maria’s idea and Ellie couldn’t say no-not when she really needed a proper wash and couldn’t face doing it herself in the shower.
“Oh my god, Ellie, stop whining and enjoy your salon session,” Sarah says exasperatedly.
Still, the hand not holding talkative Brianna tightens around Ellie’s to soothe her.
“I still don’t get why I have to lie down flat on the counter. I can’t even stretch my legs all the way,” she complains.
“Because it’s way more comfortable. Dad used to wash my hair like this when I was little.”
Ellie is about to protest again, but Maria moves on to something else:
“Night Violet or Coco Mango?”
“What?” Ellie tries to lift her neck, but Maria keeps it steady.
“I mean, which shampoo do you want?”
“Beats me. Whatever Sarah uses.”
“I don’t use those, silly. They’re not for my hair. We bought them the other day for you.”
“Oh. Whatever. Whichever you guys prefer.”
From her reclined position she can’t see well, but aunt and niece share a look and both nod at once.
“Night Violet,” they agree.
“Then why did you buy the other one?”
“You look like a Coco Mango kinda girl too,” Sarah says, shrugging.
Ellie thinks she’s more of a “budget shampoo kinda girl.”
If she doesn’t count Tess helping her shower in the hospital, she can’t remember the last time someone did something like this for her. Maria’s fingers massage her scalp firmly but gently, steering clear of the bump and the still inflamed wound at her hairline.
The water feels warm and soothing as it runs through her hair.
Brianna keeps making adorable noises and trying to pull everything into her mouth. Sarah gently shushes her with a playful scolding, and Brianna laughs even more. That sound makes Ellie happy. It’s comforting to think that if Brianna’s giggling, nothing dangerous is near.
“Do you want me to trim the ends?”
“Sure, why not?”
***
There were leftover dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets from the day before, and that’s what Kevin, Sarah, and Ellie have for lunch while catching up on the episodes of Savage Starlight Ellie missed over the past few weeks. The girls demand custody of Brianna, and Maria hands her over after they promise not to take their eyes off her for even a second. Sarah and Ellie take turns blowing raspberries on her tummy, and the baby laughs so hard she practically melts.
Tommy shows up at some point in the afternoon and joins the adults in the kitchen to talk about who knows what. Joel only comes out to hand Ellie her medication and to check if she needs anything. He always lingers a little before heading back to the kitchen.
Later, when it seems they’ve decided the secret conversations have gone on long enough, Tommy walks into the living room with Joel’s guitar and a smile that clearly spells trouble.
“Ladies, young ladies, and Uncle Grumpy,” he announces like a game show host, “Super Kev and I have a special concert for you. Weeks of rehearsals. Suffering. Art.”
The boy, who up until now has been busy building pillow forts, springs to his feet with a huge grin.
“You’re gonna love it, Ellie,” he assures her.
It turns out to be a song about Racing Trucks. It doesn’t really make sense and it only rhymes sometimes, but Kevin sings it with so much passion that the audience breaks into wild applause. He takes several bows in return.
Brianna falls asleep on Ellie’s chest at some point, smiling in her dreams, her tiny face twitching and relaxing in little waves. Sarah leans against Ellie on the couch and hooks her finger gently around her cousin’s hand, which latches on instinctively.
The late afternoon light fills the room with a warm, golden glow that makes the living room feel even cozier than it actually is. Ellie lets herself be cradled by that feeling of comfort and safety-something she’s always envied about the Millers.
Tommy and Joel talk about work. From what Ellie can gather, Joel hasn’t shown up at the office in days, and Tommy’s the one holding everything together right now. He doesn’t seem too bothered though. He gives a quick rundown of the new jobs and the timelines on the ones already in progress, and Joel seems content with the update.
“That’ll keep us going for a couple more weeks,” Tommy says, stretching his legs like just saying it lifts a weight off his shoulders.
Joel nods. He looks satisfied.
Ellie wonders if he’s really planning on not going back to work for two more weeks.
***
The sky over Jackson has turned shades of orange and purple by the time Maria gets up from the couch with a quiet sigh and announces that it’s time to head home. Kevin, still on the floor playing with his building blocks, protests loudly, but no one pays him much attention.
Tommy has already gotten up a few minutes earlier. He’s in the kitchen with Joel, collecting the last of the lemonade glasses-or what passed for lemonade-that everyone left half-finished. From the living room, they can hear the clinking of silverware in the sink.
“Well,” Maria says, adjusting the strap of the baby carrier while giving Brianna’s back a couple of gentle pats, “I think it’s time.”
“You know you’re both welcome to stay for dinner,” Sarah offers from the floor, where she’s still sitting with Kevin.
Maria gives her a smile that’s equal parts exhaustion and affection.
“If I sit down again, sweetheart, I won’t get back up.”
Ellie watches from her corner of the couch. She hasn’t said much in the past hour. She hasn’t needed to. It’s enough just to watch and listen. To remind herself that all this-the noises, the jokes, the overlapping voices, the warmth-is still real and not just a post-medication dream.
Kevin stands up reluctantly, gathering the blocks slowly. He tosses them into the basket by the fireplace with visible displeasure.
“Do we really have to go?”
“You know we do,” Tommy replies from the kitchen doorway, drying his hands on a towel. Then he gives Ellie a quick wink. “Go say bye to your cousins.”
Kevin walks over to Ellie. His expression is more serious than a seven-year-old’s should be.
“Are you okay? Really?”
Ellie blinks, then nods.
“I’m better. Thanks for asking, you little brat.”
Kevin grins, clearly relieved.
“Okay. I’ll see you soon, right?”
“Looks like it.”
He gives her a quick, awkward hug, like he isn’t sure how long you’re allowed to hug a girl with injuries. Ellie lets him. She even gives him a pat on the back.
Maria leans in toward her.
“Remember what we talked about,” she says quietly, with the tone of someone repeating something important, but not pressing.
Ellie nods, not quite meeting her eyes. Maria brushes a hand through her hair with the same gentle touch she used earlier that afternoon over the sink. Then she straightens up, readjusts Brianna-who doesn’t even stir-and turns to Sarah.
“You, don’t make her laugh too much tonight. Her stitches are still tender.”
Sarah rolls her eyes.
“No promises.”
Tommy says goodbye with a discreet nod, one hand on Joel’s shoulder and the other on the back of the couch.
“Get some rest. If you need anything, you know where we are.”
Joel nods.
“Thanks for coming.”
Maria and Tommy head out, with Kevin dragging his feet behind them, still trying to bargain for five more minutes. Sarah gently nudges him forward and he finally gives in, huffing like a frustrated grown-up.
“Bye, cousin Ellie. Bye, cousin Sarah,” he says from the doorway.
Ellie raises a hand in a half-wave. The word “cousin” still ties a little knot in her stomach. The good kind.
The door closes. Then, silence