Chapter 114: Sadie: Still Afraid

SADIE

I climb out of the car, adjusting my bag while Lola comes around to my side. I stare through the open entrance of the administrative building, trying to prepare myself before we go in.

Before I can, a woman in a long white dress steps into view and walks outside.

My hand goes still on the strap. My heart crashes against my ribs, my mouth goes dry, and for one embarrassing second, I consider running back into the car before she sees me.

I force myself to stay where I am. Sadie, you’re twenty-one. Matron can’t send me to a corner or decide when I’m allowed to eat, but knowing that doesn’t stop my stomach from twisting. It doesn’t make my legs any less reluctant to carry me toward her either.

"Is that the big boss?" Lola asks beside me.

I nod as Matron squints at us. Her gaze moves slowly from Trey to Walker, then Lola, before settling in my direction. I can’t tell whether she recognizes me, and I’m not sure which outcome I prefer. Introducing myself would be humiliating. Hearing her say my name might make me feel sixteen again.

A deep breath does little to settle me, but I start toward her anyway.

Lola, Trey, and Walker follow, and the steady sound of their footsteps keeps me from changing direction.

Coming here alone would’ve been a terrible idea. I’d probably be standing beside Mr. Berebon by now, claiming I’d left something important at school and needed to return immediately. Preferably for another five years.

Yes, Matron is that terrifying.

The strange part is that she doesn’t look nearly as frightening as she did five years ago. She’s an ordinary woman, around five-ten and plump, with the sort of beauty that convinces people to trust her before she even speaks.

No horns. No sharp teeth. Nothing considerate enough to warn them what she’s really like.

You have to look at her eyes for that, and I’ve looked at them more times than I ever wanted to.

They’re still cold. Five years have added a few wrinkles around them, but they move over me with the same disapproval that has me checking my clothes without meaning to.

By the time I stop in front of her, my shoulders are straight and my hands are resting neatly at my sides, as though I’m still waiting for her to inspect me.

"I thought that was you." Matron looks me over, her gaze traveling down to my shoes before returning to my face. "Sadie Rhodes."

Hearing my full name in her voice sends another shiver down my back. It’s still shrill and unnaturally flat, like no emotion has ever managed to survive the journey from her chest to her mouth.

"It’s been a long time." The words sound inadequate, but I don’t have anything warmer. I’m glad she’s alive because I need answers. Beyond that, I can’t find a single memory that makes me happy to see her.

"It’s good to see you too." Her smile deepens the wrinkles around her mouth. "How long has it been? Five years?" She looks me over again. "You’re one of the few who never came back to visit. But look at you. You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman." Her arms open. "Come here. Let me hug you."

I’m still trying to think of a polite way to refuse when she closes the distance and wraps her arms around me.

My body goes stiff. She holds me against her with a warmth I don’t remember her ever showing, close enough that she must hear how fast my heart is beating. Maybe she can even feel how nervous I am. The thought makes heat crawl up my neck. I didn’t come all this way just to let her know she still scares me.

As soon as her arms loosen, I step away and run a hand over my hair, only half listening as the others introduce themselves.

My hand falls into a fist at my side, and I don’t notice until Lola moves closer and gently touches it. I loosen my fingers.

"And these are your friends?" Matron looks between them with open surprise. Her attention lingers on Trey, and interest crosses her face before she turns back to me with a small laugh. "Sadie kept mostly to herself when she lived here. I don’t remember her having friends at all. It’s good to see that’s changed."

Nobody answers. I’m not sure what response she expects. Thank you for reminding everyone that I was lonely?

Her smile stays in place while she waits, then tightens slightly when the silence continues.

"You must all be exhausted from the drive," she says, moving on. "Come inside and have some tea. We can talk in my office. I’m sure we have plenty to catch up on."

Before I can answer, she closes a hand around my arm and starts leading me toward the building. Lola is still holding my other hand, leaving me with the choice of letting go or pulling her along with us.

My fingers slip from hers.

As soon as we enter the administration building, Matron threads her arm through mine and keeps me close to her side.

I try to ease away as we walk, pretending I need to adjust my bag, but her grip shifts with me and tightens again. The woman is an octopus. A warm, smiling octopus who either hasn’t noticed I’m trying to escape or has decided not to allow it.

The hallway smells exactly as I remember—slightly damp from leaks they never seemed interested in fixing, even while finding enough money to add more buildings around this one. The pale-yellow paint has faded, and every footstep travels through the silence, making the place feel closer to a graveyard than a home filled with children.

"Do you remember your classroom?" Matron asks, gesturing as we pass two open doors. "The children are sleeping now. Normally, there’s so much noise in here that you can hardly hear yourself think."

I remember it, all right. The noise, the lessons, the teachers who seemed irritated before any of us even opened our mouths. It wasn’t until I got older that I considered how badly they might’ve been paid.

Still, low wages didn’t make them bully me. It didn’t make them follow orders to keep me out of activities and treat me like my presence ruined things.

But yes, I remember my classroom.

"Come closer," Matron says, glancing back and gesturing for Trey to catch up. "We have a music room now, with all the basic instruments. We’ve raised intelligent girls like Sadie here. Perhaps we’ll discover a few musical prodigies too."

We’ve raised. It took her less than five minutes to start collecting credit.

Her arm presses more firmly against mine as she smiles at him. "We currently have sixty-two children living here."

"Sixty-two?" Trey glances down the hallway. "How many staff members look after them? Do the children get enough individual attention?"

"Oh, children don’t need as much attention as people think." Matron gives a dismissive snort. "We focus on their grades, manners, and abilities. Those things tell you nearly everything you need to know about a child."

In other words, their emotional well-being still doesn’t matter. Nobody asks whether they’re happy, frightened, lonely, or struggling to keep up.

If you’re slow, they force you to move faster. If you make a mistake, they punish you. And if there’s something about you they don’t approve of, they make you feel small enough to wish you could cut it out of yourself.

"And this is my office," she announces when we reach the end of the hall.

She still doesn’t release my arm when we go through the door together. A woman behind the reception desk rises to greet us—the first unfamiliar face I’ve seen since we arrived. The old secretary must have finally left.

"Good afternoon, everyone."

"Please make us some tea," Matron tells her. "Bring out the good one, we have important guests."

She gives a pleased little laugh that no one returns before drawing me through the door behind the desk.

The difference between her office and the hallway is almost insulting. This room must be renovated every year. Possibly every month. The walls are painted a clean cream, without a single bubble or damp patch.

A thick rug covers the floor, and the leather chairs haven’t started splitting or peeling. Matching cups sit inside a glass-fronted cabinet, fresh flowers brighten a side table, and an air conditioner hums above us.

So there is money for repairs. It just depends on whose comfort is involved.

She finally releases me and circles behind the polished desk. After settling into her chair, she adjusts the brass nameplate until it sits perfectly straight.

MRS. LENORA SMITH

MATRON & DIRECTOR

HELENA’S CHILDREN’S HOME

"Sit down, Rhodes," she says when she notices I’m still standing.

Before I can reach for a chair, Trey pulls one out for me. I lower myself into it with my bag held across my lap, and he takes the seat beside mine.

"What a gentleman," Matron says, smiling at him.

My eyes threaten to roll. What does she know about anyone being gentle?

Walker lowers himself into the chair on my other side, then leans closer.

"Should we start asking questions?" he whispers. "This woman makes me uncomfortable."