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clodagh

My head feels fuzzy as I try to open my eyes, and I hear the sound of hushed tones all around me. It's been two days since I was found in that God awful place. For the past forty-eight hours, I've listened to the doctors and nurses speak about me as though I can't hear them.

I force my eyes open, squinting against the harsh hospital lights.

The sterile white walls and constant beeping of machines are a stark contrast to the dark, dank cabin where I spent the last two months.

My body aches all over, but it's a different kind of pain now—the pain of healing rather than fresh wounds.

I hear footsteps approaching and quickly close my eyes again, pretending to be asleep. It's become a habit, a defense mechanism I can't seem to shake.

"Poor thing," I hear a nurse whisper. "The doctor says she's got two broken ribs, a fractured wrist, severe malnutrition, and more bruises than they can count. And that's just the physical damage."

"What's going to happen to her now?" another voice asks. "I heard her whole family was killed."

"Social services are working on it," the first voice replies. "They're talking about putting her into foster care once she's well enough to leave the hospital."

My heart starts racing at those words. Foster care? I don't want to go with strangers. I want to go home, but home doesn't exist anymore. A lump forms in my throat as I think about Mammy, Daddy, and little Dylan. They're gone, and I'm all alone.

"Shh," the nurse suddenly says. "I think she's waking up."

I feel a gentle hand on my arm, and I open my eyes and slowly turn to face her, blinking hard once again as the light hits me.

"Hello, Clodagh," the nurse says softly. "How are you feeling, love?"

I try to speak, but my throat is dry and sore. The nurse quickly brings a cup of water with a straw to my lips. As I sip, I notice the cast on my left wrist and the bandages peeking out from under my hospital gown.

"It hurts," I manage to croak out.

The nurse nods sympathetically. "I know, sweetheart. You've been through a lot. But you're safe now, and we're going to take good care of you."

I want to believe her, but after everything that's happened, it's hard to trust anyone. As she checks my vitals and adjusts my IV, I can't help but wonder what's going to happen to me now. Where will I go? Who will take care of me?

The thought of being sent to live with strangers terrifies me almost as much as the memories of that dark cabin.

I close my eyes again, wishing I could wake up and find that this has all been a horrible nightmare.

But I know that's not going to happen. This is my reality now, and somehow, I have to find a way to live with it.

As I drift back to sleep, I silently pray for strength. I survived that monster; I can survive this too. I have to. For Mammy, for Daddy, for Dylan—I have to keep going. But deep down, I wonder if I'll ever feel safe or happy again.

* * *

The next few days pass in a blur of doctors, nurses, and police officers asking questions. I try to answer as best I can, but it's hard to talk about what happened. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face, feel his hands on me. The nightmares are constant.

It’s day four in the hospital when a woman in a neat suit comes to see me. She introduces herself as Ms. Parker from social services. Her voice is kind, but I can see the pity in her eyes.

"Clodagh, sweetheart," she says, sitting in the chair beside my bed. "I know you've been through a terrible ordeal. I'm here to talk about what happens next."

I nod silently, dreading what she's going to say.

"We've been looking into your family situation," she continues. "I'm afraid there are no close relatives who can take you in. So, we're going to need to find you a foster family."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. No close relatives. Of course not. They're all dead.

"When?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.

"Once the doctors say you're well enough to leave the hospital," Ms. Parker explains. "We'll try to find you a nice family, Clodagh. People who will take good care of you."

I nod again, not trusting myself to speak. The thought of living with strangers terrifies me, but what choice do I have?

As Ms. Parker leaves, promising to return soon, I turn my face to the window. Outside, I can see children playing in the hospital garden. They're laughing, running around without a care in the world. I wonder if I'll ever feel that carefree again.

That night, as I lie awake listening to the quiet beeping of machines, I make a decision. I may have lost my family, my home, and everything I knew, but I won't let that monster take my future too. Somehow, I'll find a way to survive this. To live, not just exist.

I close my eyes, picturing Mammy's smile, Daddy's laugh, Dylan's mischievous grin. "I'll make you proud," I whisper into the darkness. "I promise."

As I drift off to sleep, I feel a glimmer of something I haven't felt in months: hope. It's small, fragile, but it's there. And for now, it's enough.

* * *

A week after Ms. Parker's visit, I'm sitting up in bed, idly flipping through a magazine someone left behind. The doctors say I'm recovering well physically, but I know the real healing will take much longer.

There's a soft knock at the door, and Ms. Parker enters, followed by a woman I've never seen before. She's tall and slender, with long black hair that has a striking white streak running through it. Her smile is warm and genuine as she looks at me.

"Hello, Clodagh," Ms. Parker says. "How are you feeling today?"

I shrug, eyeing the new woman cautiously. "Okay, I guess."

Ms. Parker nods. "Clodagh, I'd like you to meet Tammy. She's going to be your foster mother."

My heart starts racing. This is happening so fast. I'm not ready. But Tammy steps forward, her smile never wavering.

"Hello, Clodagh," she says softly. "It's lovely to meet you."

There's something about her voice, gentle and sweet, that makes me relax a little. She doesn't try to come too close or touch me, which I appreciate.

"Hi," I manage to whisper.

Tammy takes a seat in the chair next to my bed, smoothing her skirt as she sits. "I know this must be very overwhelming for you," she says. "And I want you to know that there's no pressure. We can take this as slowly as you need."

I nod, not sure what to say. Ms. Parker excuses herself, leaving Tammy and me alone.

"Would you like to know a little about me?" Tammy asks. When I nod again, she continues. "Well, I live in a little house just outside the city. I have a cat named Mister Whiskers who thinks he runs the place. I love to bake, especially cookies, and I'm terrible at singing but I do it anyway."

Despite myself, I feel the corners of my mouth twitch upward at her words. She notices and her smile widens.

"There's a lovely park near my house," she goes on, "with a lake where ducks live. Sometimes I go there to feed them, even though I know I'm not supposed to."

"I like ducks," I say quietly, surprising myself.

Tammy's eyes light up. "Do you? Well, maybe when you're feeling up to it, we could go feed them together. Only if you want to, of course."

For the first time in months, I feel a tiny spark of excitement. "I'd like that," I admit.

We talk for a while longer. Tammy tells me about her house, her job as a librarian, and her hobby of painting. She doesn't ask me any difficult questions or try to make me talk about what happened. Instead, she just shares little bits of her life, making me feel included without any pressure.

As she's getting ready to leave, Tammy pauses by the door.

"Clodagh, I want you to know something," she says gently.

"I can't imagine what you've been through, and I won't pretend to understand.

But I promise you this: in my home, you will be safe, you will be cared for, and you will have all the time and space you need to heal. "

I feel tears welling up in my eyes, and I quickly look down at my hands. Tammy doesn't try to hug me or touch me, which I'm grateful for. Instead, she just says softly, "I'll come visit again tomorrow, if that's okay with you."

I nod, not trusting my voice. As she leaves, I realize that for the first time since I was rescued, I'm actually looking forward to something.

That night, as I lie in my hospital bed, I think about Tammy. Her kind smile, her gentle voice, the way she didn't push me to talk. And for the first time, the idea of leaving the hospital doesn't seem quite so terrifying.

I close my eyes, picturing the park she described, with the lake and the ducks. Maybe, just maybe, things will be okay. Not perfect, not like before, but okay. And for now, that's enough.

As I drift off to sleep, I find myself hoping that tomorrow comes quickly. I want to see Tammy again, to hear more about her life, her cat, her baking. It's a small thing, but it feels like the first step toward something new. Something that might, someday, feel like home.