Chapter 3 — The Pendant’s Memory

Miranda

The room was still, except for the occasional creak of the floorboards as Miranda shifted her weight. She sat cross-legged on the bed, her back pressed against the wooden headboard, cocooned in the same blanket Mason had handed her hours ago. Its faint, sterile hospital scent mingled with something warmer—maybe cedar from the house or the lingering trace of Mason’s aftershave. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it grounded her, an anchor she hadn’t realized she needed.

Her fingers brushed against the pendant hanging around her neck, the cool metal grounding her further. Earlier, she’d tucked it beneath her sweater out of habit, a lifetime of hiding kicking in automatically. But here, in the quiet solitude of her new room, she let it fall into her palm. The small, green glass charm caught a stray beam of sunlight streaming through the window, refracting tiny rainbows that danced across the pale quilt draped over her legs. The colors flitted and shimmered, fragile yet persistent, like the memories they stirred.

Her mother’s face came to her mind unbidden—soft and kind, with eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. Hands, delicate yet strong, fastening the pendant around Miranda’s neck for the first time. “This will keep you safe,” her mother had whispered, her voice threaded with urgency and love. Miranda had been too young to understand the weight of those words, too innocent to sense the warning they carried. Now, they echoed in her mind like a mantra, pulling at the deep ache that had settled in her chest.

She closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the pendant until the edges of the glass pressed into her palm. If she focused hard enough, she could almost feel her mother’s presence, faint and warm, like a whisper skimming her skin. Over the years, the pendant had become her talisman, the one thing her father hadn’t been able to take. She’d hidden it beneath her collar, tucked it into the folds of clothing—anywhere it might escape his notice. It was the last fragment of a life she’d only half-remembered, but it was enough to keep her going, even when everything else felt impossible.

The room around her was unfamiliar—a stark contrast to the cold sterility of her father’s house. Here, sunlight softened the edges of the wooden furniture, painting the space in hues that felt warm, almost alive. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the fresh, earthy tang of the forest beyond the window. It should have been comforting. Yet the unfamiliarity pressed against her like an invisible weight. She tightened the blanket around her shoulders, instinctively creating the barrier she had learned to rely on. Comfort, like silence, could be deceptive.

Her gaze drifted to the window. Beyond it, the forest loomed, its towering trees swaying lazily in the breeze. It looked so still, so peaceful—nothing like the chaos that had defined her life for so long. But she had learned not to trust stillness. Silence in her father’s house had always been a warning, the calm before the inevitable storm. Even now, in this new place, her mind refused to lower its guard.

Her fingers traced the pendant again, her grip loosening as she breathed out. The memories came anyway, unrelenting and sharp. The night she fled. The pendant had been the only thing she’d managed to take, its chain hidden beneath her sweater as she escaped. Her father’s sharp words had escalated into threats, and threats had turned to bruises. She’d waited until the house was still, his snores rumbling faintly down the hall. Her hands had trembled as she tiptoed across the floor, each creaking board threatening to betray her. The chill of the night air had hit her like a wall when she slipped outside, and her pulse had thundered in her ears as she ran barefoot into the darkness. She hadn’t exhaled until she was deep in the woods, her skin raw from the cold and her lungs burning like fire.

The memory made her shiver. She exhaled shakily, forcing herself back to the present. The pendant dangled against her chest again, its weight oddly reassuring. She needed to stop thinking like this. She was safe now—or at least, she was supposed to be. But safety still felt fragile, like a shadow that might disappear the moment she reached for it.

Her gaze settled on the small mirror resting atop the dresser. Sunlight caught its surface at just the right angle, reflecting her image back at her. She stared at the girl in the glass: dark hair falling in loose, unkempt waves around her face; green eyes—her mother’s eyes—hollow and haunted. The bruises along her jawline were fading, their deep purple tones softening into sickly yellow-green smudges. She tilted her head slightly, catching the way the light shifted in her reflection. For a moment, she thought she saw something else beneath the bruises, something she couldn’t quite name. Resilience, maybe. Or the faintest echo of strength.

A knock at the door startled her, snapping her out of her thoughts. Her pulse spiked, and her hand shot to the pendant, clutching it as though it could shield her from whatever was on the other side.

“It’s Nick,” came the voice, light and unthreatening. “Just checking in. I’ve got waffles—blueberry, the best kind. No pressure, though. Blueberries can handle rejection better than I can.”

Her lips twitched, the faintest echo of a smile she wasn’t sure she understood. His tone was casual, but there was something genuine in it, an undercurrent of warmth that made her chest ache. She wasn’t used to warmth. She didn’t know what to do with it.

“I’m fine,” she called back, her voice hoarse, brittle, barely carrying through the door. She winced at the sound, the way it cracked under its own weight.

“Okay,” Nick said, softer now but still easy. “Take your time. Waffles are waiting if you change your mind.”

She stayed frozen, her body tense, listening as his footsteps retreated down the hall. The warmth of his words lingered, unsettling in a way she couldn’t name. She wanted to open the door, to prove to herself that she wasn’t trapped. But the thought of stepping out—of facing Nick, Mason, or anyone else—felt like too much. Questions, even kindness, were more than she could handle.

Her hand drifted to the pendant again, her fingers tracing the smooth curve of the glass. It caught the sunlight once more, scattering rainbows across the walls. Her mother had loved rainbows, she remembered suddenly. She used to draw them in the margins of her notebooks, tiny bursts of color standing in defiance of the gray world they lived in.

“Never forget,” her mother had said once, her voice soft yet firm. “Even in the darkest moments, there’s still light. You just have to find it.”

Miranda swallowed hard, her throat tightening. The pendant had always been that light for her—a reminder of the strength her mother had tried to leave behind. But sitting in this unfamiliar room, sunlight streaming through the window and faint voices drifting up from downstairs, she wondered if there could be other lights too. New ones.

The thought scared her. But it also felt like hope. And hope, she realized, was terrifying.

She let the pendant fall back against her chest and exhaled slowly, the weight of it grounding her. Then, with deliberate caution, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Her bare feet touched the cool wooden floor, and she steadied herself with one hand on the headboard. She wasn’t ready to leave the room—not yet. But she took a step toward the window, her gaze fixed on the forest beyond.

The trees swayed gently, their leaves catching the sunlight in ways that made them seem almost alive. Miranda stared for a long time, her thoughts swirling like the patterns of light on the quilt. And for the first time in as long as she could remember, she let herself wonder what it might feel like to step outside, to walk among the trees without fear.

To begin again.

A quiet determination stirred within her. She wasn’t there yet. But maybe, just maybe, she could be. One step at a time.