The next morning, I left the hospital with Jonas.
Everything happened very quickly.
Nurses checked my temperature one last time.
A doctor looked at the bruises on my arms and nodded approvingly.
Papers were signed.
Instructions were given.
And before I fully understood what was happening, I was standing outside beside a car unlike any I had ever seen before.
I stopped walking.
The car was enormous.
Long.
Black.
Shiny enough to reflect the sky.
It looked less like a car and more like something that belonged in a movie.
For a moment, I just stared at it.
---
Jonas opened the door.
I looked at the car.
Then at him.
Then back at the car.
A tiny smile appeared on his face.
For the first time, he almost looked amused.
Carefully, he lifted me inside.
The seats were soft.
Softer than my bed at home.
The air smelled clean and expensive, though at six years old I didn't have the words for that yet.
All I knew was that nothing inside the car looked worn.
Nothing looked broken.
Nothing looked old.
It felt like a world completely different from mine.
---
The city rolled past outside the window.
At first, everything looked familiar.
Busy streets.
Crowded sidewalks.
People hurrying to work.
Then gradually, things began to change.
The buildings became larger.
The roads became quieter.
The traffic disappeared.
Even the air seemed different somehow.
Trees replaced apartment blocks.
Iron fences replaced storefronts.
Large houses appeared behind walls so tall I couldn't see over them.
Everything looked perfect.
Too perfect.
Like somebody had carefully arranged the entire neighborhood before allowing people to live in it.
---
I pressed my forehead against the glass.
The farther we drove, the more uncomfortable I became.
Not because I was scared exactly.
Because I didn't belong here.
I knew that feeling well.
The feeling of walking into a place and immediately understanding that people like you weren't expected.
That feeling sat heavily in my stomach now.
---
Eventually, the car slowed.
Huge iron gates stood ahead of us.
They were taller than any gate I had ever seen.
Without anyone getting out of the car, they slowly opened.
I stared.
My mouth fell open slightly.
Beyond the gates stretched a long driveway lined with flowers.
Fountains sparkled in the sunlight.
Perfect green lawns stretched endlessly in every direction.
And at the very end stood the largest house I had ever seen.
No.
House wasn't the right word.
It looked like a palace.
---
The car rolled forward.
The gates closed behind us.
Something about that sound made me uneasy.
As though the world I'd known had disappeared behind those walls.
And there was no easy way back.
---
When the car stopped, I hesitated before getting out.
The building towered above me.
Windows everywhere.
Stone pillars.
Balconies.
A fountain larger than our entire apartment sat near the entrance.
I felt tiny.
Smaller than I'd felt in a long time.
---
The front door opened before we even reached it.
Several people stepped outside.
Men in uniforms.
Women dressed elegantly.
People who clearly belonged here.
The moment they saw me, their expressions changed.
Not cruelly.
Just... surprised.
Their eyes moved over my tangled hair.
My oversized borrowed clothes.
The hospital bracelet still wrapped around my wrist.
I knew what they saw.
A little girl who didn't belong.
---
Before I could think about it any longer, something large came running toward us.
Fast.
Very fast.
I froze.
A huge dog raced across the courtyard.
Its paws slammed against the stone path.
Its tail wagged wildly.
Its excitement was obvious.
Unfortunately, all I saw were teeth.
A lot of teeth.
Without thinking, I grabbed Jonas's hand.
Tightly.
The dog skidded to a stop in front of us.
Then immediately rolled onto its back.
Jonas laughed softly.
"It's okay."
Easy for him to say.
He wasn't eye-level with the giant animal.
---
Three people approached us.
Two men and one woman.
The woman smiled warmly.
Not the polite smile adults usually gave children.
A genuine one.
"So this is the little girl?"
Jonas nodded.
"She was involved in the accident."
The woman's expression softened immediately.
"Poor thing."
I lowered my eyes.
I hated when people looked at me like that.
---
Jonas glanced down at me.
"I still don't know her name."
One of the staff members quickly handed me a notebook and pen.
My fingers tightened around them.
For a moment, I considered writing my full name.
Then I remembered the way Jonas had reacted when he heard it.
The strange look on his face.
The sadness.
The recognition.
So instead, I wrote the only name that felt safe.
Meri
The woman read it.
Then smiled.
"Meri."
She said it gently.
Like she was testing the name.
I nodded once.
And somehow, hearing it spoken aloud in this enormous place made me feel even smaller.
Because the gates had already closed behind us.
And for the first time, I had the strange feeling that I wasn't entering a house.
I was entering an entirely different world.
By the time we entered the house, I was exhausted.
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.
The kind that settles deep inside your bones after too much fear, too much confusion, and too many changes all at once.
Everything around me felt overwhelming.
The ceilings were so high I had to tilt my head back to see them properly.
Paintings covered the walls.
Huge paintings in heavy gold frames.
Serious-looking people stared down from them as if they were watching everyone who passed beneath them.
The floors shone like mirrors.
When I looked down, I could see a blurry reflection of myself staring back.
A little girl with tangled hair, a hospital bracelet, and eyes that looked much older than six.
---
The woman who had greeted us at the entrance noticed my shaking legs before I did.
Without asking, she gently lifted me into her arms.
Normally, I would've protested.
My mommy always said I was getting too big to be carried.
But I was too tired to argue.
Too tired to care.
So I rested my head against her shoulder and let her carry me inside.
---
Everything after that felt strangely gentle.
Someone prepared a bath.
Warm water.
Soft towels.
Clean clothes.
The woman carefully washed the dried blood from my knees and cleaned the dirt from my hands.
She worked around the bruises gently, never pressing too hard.
Nobody rushed me.
Nobody asked difficult questions.
For the first time in days, I wasn't being treated like a problem that needed solving.
I was simply being cared for.
And somehow, that made everything hurt more.
---
After the bath came food.
A bowl of soup.
Fresh bread.
A glass of juice.
The smell reached me before the tray did.
Only then did I realize how hungry I was.
I ate slowly.
Carefully.
Trying not to look too desperate.
Halfway through the meal, I suddenly stopped.
The spoon remained frozen halfway to my mouth.
Because a memory had arrived without warning.
My mommy.
---
My mommy was the only person who had ever fed me before.
When I was sick, she made soup.
When I was sad, she made soup.
When money was tight and soup was all we had, she somehow still made it taste special.
She always blew on each spoonful before handing it to me because she worried it would be too hot.
Then she'd sit across from me at our tiny kitchen table and ask about my day.
Even when she was exhausted.
Even when she could barely keep her eyes open.
She always listened.
As though every answer mattered.
As though I mattered.
---
The lump in my throat grew painful.
I lowered my spoon.
Suddenly, I didn't feel hungry anymore.
Not because of the food.
Because I missed her.
More than I thought it was possible to miss another person.
I looked around the enormous dining room.
The beautiful furniture.
The polished floors.
The expensive decorations.
And none of it mattered.
I would've traded all of it for one minute sitting across from my mommy at our old table.
---
Later that evening, a nanny came to check on me.
She seemed kind enough.
The sort of person who enjoyed explaining things.
Especially things she considered important.
"This is the Lutheral Estate," she told me proudly.
I listened carefully.
My mommy always said listening was important.
Especially when adults forgot children were paying attention.
The nanny smiled.
"One of the most powerful families in the country."
My eyes widened slightly.
That sounded important.
Very important.
---
"There are five sons."
She held up five fingers.
"Mrs. Lutheral is the mother."
I immediately recognized the woman who had carried me inside.
The nanny continued.
"And Mr. Jonas is the fourth son."
That surprised me.
For some reason, I had imagined Jonas owned the house.
Not that he belonged to a much larger family.
The nanny lowered her voice slightly.
"As for the eldest son..."
She hesitated.
Choosing her words carefully.
"His name is King."
---
Something about the way she said the name made me pay closer attention.
The nanny glanced toward the doorway before continuing.
"He runs most of the family business now."
I nodded.
Not fully understanding.
The nanny leaned closer.
"Mr. Jonas is kind."
A pause.
"King is... different."
She didn't explain further.
She didn't need to.
The look on her face explained enough.
---
Then she said something that made my stomach tighten.
"If he discovers Mr. Jonas brought a strange child into the house..."
She stopped talking.
The unfinished sentence hung heavily in the air.
I looked around the room again.
At the expensive curtains.
The polished furniture.
The giant portraits.
Everything felt beautiful.
And somehow, none of it felt safe.
---
The nanny was still talking when a voice echoed through the hallway.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Yet every word seemed to carry through the entire house.
The kind of voice people immediately listened to.
The kind that expected answers.
"Who brought a child into my house?"
The nanny froze.
Completely froze.
The color drained from her face.
For a second, the entire room felt different.
Colder.
Tenser.
Dangerous.
Slowly, she leaned down toward me.
Then whispered two words.
"King's home."
And somehow, I knew everything was about to change.