The swing of memories

ELENA'S POV

I sat in the sterile quiet of the ward, my hands pressed against my face, waiting for the sound of my name—waiting to finally be free.

"Elena Williams."

I almost didn’t hear it, but there it was. My release is like an afterthought. I stood slowly, every bone in my body feeling the weight of those five years, and collected the worn documents they handed me.

"Here are your belongings," the nurse murmured, passing over a small, faded backpack. I took it, fingers brushing against its rough fabric—an object, now, that felt like a stranger’s.

Glancing around the hospital reception one last time, I walked out into a world that felt distant, like a faint memory. Outside, people were gathered, anxious and hopeful as they awaited their loved ones. No one waited for me, of course. I had known that. I had known that for a long time.

As I crossed the hospital parking lot, a single word pulsed in my mind like a heartbeat: Revenge.

A car horn jolted me out of my thoughts. I barely turned, but the driver pulled up beside me. Caroline’s face peered through the window, her eyes softening as she saw me. A hollow smile tugged at my lips—so maybe someone had come for me, after all.

"Elena!" She jumped out and wrapped her arms around me, her hug so tight I could feel her own relief.

“Did I come too late?” she asked, her voice full of warmth and worry.

“No,” I whispered, forcing a small smile. “You’re just in time. Thank you.”

The ride was quiet, Caroline intuitively knowing that I wasn’t ready to talk. Five years of silence stretched behind me, and the outside world was overwhelming, surreal—almost too real. I let my eyes drift out the window, taking in each passing scene, drinking in every street, and every tree as if I were seeing it all for the first time.

When we reached the edge of my old neighbourhood, I finally broke the silence. “Drop me here.”

Her hands gripped the wheel tighter. “Elena… are you sure? Going back—it might—”

“I need to,” I cut her off, my voice firm.

She sighed, her fingers lingering on her bag before she pulled out an envelope. “Take this.”

I shook my head, already knowing what it was. “Caroline, I—”

“You will take it,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I don’t care if you don’t use it. Just keep it.”

I took the envelope reluctantly, the weight of it more than just paper. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said and I nodded.

I stepped out, clutching the envelope as I started walking down the streets I’d once known so well. But now, they felt haunted, memories clinging to each corner. My eyes stung as flashes of the past rushed back—painful, searing reminders of what had been taken from me.

I wandered to the little playground near my old home. The sight of it hit me hard; I’d been here so often with my mother, back when the world was simple, back when I was whole. I sank onto one of the swings, letting the memories crash over me like waves.

"Can you open this for me?" a small voice broke through my thoughts. I looked up, startled. A little boy stood in front of me, his bright blue eyes shining, a packet of sweets clutched in his hand.

I stared at him, my chest tightening. He couldn’t have been much younger than my son would’ve been—if I still had him. If she hadn’t taken him from me.

"Ma’am? Can you open this?" he repeated, he jolted me awake from my deep thoughts. He held it out with a shy smile.

“Oh… yes.” I took it, my hands almost trembling as I opened the wrapper and handed it back to him.

Before he could take it. "Noah! Noah!" Voices called out, and the boy’s eyes widened. He clasped a hand over his mouth as if hiding was the only option.

Moments later a woman hurried toward us. Relief flooded the woman’s face as she saw him. "Oh, thank goodness,” she exhaled. “Please, Noah, you can’t keep running off like this!”

Soon a man also appeared behind her, he threw a sharp look at the woman. "You’d better keep a closer eye on him. Master Justin won’t take kindly to this.”

Master Justin?? I think I've heard that name before... and it wasn't from the hospital.

They were already leading Noah away, their backs turned to me as if I didn’t exist. But something tugged at me, a strange, uneasy familiarity.

“Wait,” I called after them. “He forgot his sweets.”

The man turned back, his gaze locking onto mine. His face—it wasn’t unfamiliar. I’d seen him before. Not at the hospital. But I couldn’t figure out where. How?

After collecting the sweets, he turned sharply, following the woman and Noah, leaving me with the weight of questions that threatened to drown me.

I sat back on the swing, the wind cold against my skin.