The bus station wasn't far—just a half-hour light rail ride—but it felt like an eternity.

The station was bustling, but not chaotic. Families lugged suitcases, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they moved purposefully toward the ticket counter. A man in a heavy coat barked into a cell phone, his voice echoing above the noise. No one seemed to notice the girl sitting alone on the bench at the edge of the waiting area, knees pulled to her chest, face streaked with tears.

I pulled my hood up, trying to disappear into the fabric, hoping no one would see me. But even hidden, the tears came faster, hotter, streaking down my frozen cheeks in a way I couldn't control. I pressed my hands to my face, the rough fabric of my gloves scraping against my skin, and tried to stifle the sobs threatening to break free.

I wanted to be invisible, but a part of me longed for someone to notice. For someone—anyone—to sit down and ask if I was okay. But the few who glanced my way quickly averted their eyes, their gazes sliding past me like I was nothing more than a shadow.

The world around me felt distant, blurred, like I was watching it from underwater. The hiss of a bus pulling up outside, the crackle of the intercom announcing departures, the shuffle of boots against the tiled floor—it all faded into a dull hum as my thoughts spiraled.

What are you doing, Emily? Where are you even going?

The questions echoed in my mind, louder and louder until they drowned out everything else. I had no answers. No plan. The cash in my pocket was barely enough for a ticket to the next town, let alone a real destination. My backpack sat beside me like a cruel reminder of how unprepared I was.

A little boy passed by, clutching his mother's hand with one and a stuffed bear with the other. His wide, curious eyes met mine for a brief moment. There was no judgment in them, only innocent curiosity, but his mother tugged him along without a second glance. I watched them disappear into the crowd, my chest tightening painfully.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, trying to shut everything out. The noise, the people, the overwhelming weight of my own thoughts. But as soon as I did, Trevor's voice came rushing back, sharp and cutting: "You're just a charity case. They don't really want you."

My breath hitched, and I gripped the bench beneath me, trying to steady myself. The tears started again, spilling over like a dam had burst. I wiped them away with the sleeve of my coat, but it was no use.

I thought about buying a ticket, but the idea made my stomach churn. Where would I go? What would I do when I got there? My legs felt like they were made of stone, too heavy to carry me any farther, even if I wanted them to.

A loud argument broke out near the ticket counter, jolting me from my spiral. A man and a woman stood inches apart, shouting over each other as their voices escalated. A baby in a stroller wailed, its cries sharp and piercing, cutting through the tension like a blade.

I winced, pulling my hood tighter around my face as if that could block out the noise. The argument fizzled out quickly, the man stalking off toward the vending machines while the woman bent to soothe the baby. But the heavy, uncomfortable energy lingered, settling in the air like smoke.

I stared at the scuffed tiles beneath my feet, tracing the cracks and imperfections with my eyes. It felt safer to focus on the floor than to look around, to see all the lives moving forward while mine seemed to stand still.

Why did I come here?

The question hit me like a slap, sharp and bitter. I'd left because I thought I had no choice. Because I was afraid of hearing the Blakes say they didn't want me, that I didn't belong. But sitting here, alone and frozen to the bone, I wasn't sure anymore.

My mind replayed Mrs. Blake's words from earlier that day: "I want her to feel safe... loved." Her voice had been so sincere, so full of care.

But then there was Mr. Blake: "We need to consider long-term." His tone had been colder, less certain.

The conflict between their voices twisted in my chest, pulling me in two directions. Part of me wanted to believe Mrs. Blake meant every word, that she truly cared about me. But the other part—the part that had been let down before, the part that had learned not to trust too much—whispered that I was fooling myself.

The station's intercom crackled to life again, announcing the departure of another bus. The sound pulled me back to the present, but the weight of my thoughts kept me rooted to the bench. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I tried to steady my breathing.

Around me, the world moved on. Travelers shuffled by, lost in their own lives, their own destinations. No one noticed the girl on the bench, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

And maybe that was for the best.

Because I wasn't sure what I needed.

Or who I even was anymore.

The station doors slid open again, letting in another gust of frigid air, and I shivered despite the heat inside. A fresh wave of travelers spilled in—some moving with purpose, others hesitating like they weren't sure if this was the right place. A young woman struggled with a rolling suitcase that kept catching on the uneven tiles, muttering under her breath. An older man in a worn coat moved slowly toward the benches, his face lined with exhaustion.

No one looked at me. No one saw me.

I told myself I was okay with that.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone standing still.

Not passing by. Not hurrying toward a bus. Just... standing.

I wiped my sleeve across my face and lifted my head, my breath catching slightly when I realized it was the little boy from earlier. He was still clutching his stuffed bear, but now he was watching me, his head tilted slightly, like he was trying to figure something out.

I glanced away, my chest tightening. I didn't want pity. Not from a stranger. Not from anyone.

His mother was only a few feet away, rifling through her bag, unaware that her son had stopped walking. He took a small step toward me, then another.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look straight ahead. Maybe if I ignored him, he'd go away.

But then something soft landed on the bench beside me.

I blinked down at it. The bear.

The little boy was holding it out to me, his tiny fingers barely letting go, like he wasn't sure if I'd take it.

I stared at it for a long moment, my throat tightening.

"It's okay," I rasped, my voice barely more than a whisper. "You keep him."

The boy didn't say anything, but his wide eyes stayed on mine. Then, just as his mother called his name, he gave me a small nod—like he understood something I didn't—and scampered back to her side.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

The bear sat beside me for a long moment before I picked it up, brushing my fingers over its worn fur. My hands were shaking. Not from the cold this time.

I wasn't sure what to do.

What now?

I could buy a ticket. Pick a town at random. Walk up to the counter, hand over my crumpled bills, and disappear.

But I didn't move.

Instead, I thought about Mrs. Blake's voice again. I want her to feel safe... loved.

And then Mr. Blake's: We need to consider long-term.

Maybe I wasn't part of their long-term plan. Maybe Trevor was right. Maybe I was a charity case, something temporary.

But maybe... maybe I wasn't.

I clenched my jaw, blinking back fresh tears.

I had two choices: walk away and prove Trevor right.

Or go home and find out for myself.

The intercom crackled again, announcing the boarding call for another bus.

I clutched the little bear in my hands, my pulse hammering in my ears.

As I watched person after person step onto the bus, my mind spun with possibilities. Should I just sneak on? Could I slip past the driver, blend into the crowd, and disappear into the warmth of a seat before anyone noticed?

The thought sent a jolt of something electric through me—fear, maybe, or desperation. Or both.

I shifted on the bench, gripping the little bear in my hands. The bus doors stayed open as more passengers trickled in, the driver barely glancing up as he took their tickets. It would be easy. Just a few steps, a quick movement, and I could be gone before anyone asked questions.

But then what?

I had no money for food. No plan for where I'd end up. No one waiting for me on the other side.

Would it be any better than here?

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. My legs tensed like they wanted to stand, to run toward the doors before they shut, before I lost the chance. But something kept me rooted in place.

Then, as if to make the decision for me, a security guard stepped into view near the entrance, scanning the waiting area with a sharp gaze. I immediately shrank into my coat, my pulse quickening. He wasn't looking for me. He had no reason to. But I knew the second I made a move for that bus, I'd draw attention.

I clenched my fists, my nails pressing into my palms.

I wasn't a thief. I wasn't a runaway.

Was I?

The bus driver gave a final glance outside, then pulled the lever. The doors wheezed shut. A moment later, the bus rumbled to life, its headlights cutting through the darkness beyond the station windows.

I watched it pull away, my breath fogging in the cold air that still clung to my skin.

It was gone.

The chance had passed.

I should've felt trapped. I should've panicked.

But all I felt was... uncertain.

Not about sneaking onto the bus. Not about running.

But about the fact that maybe I hadn't wanted to. Not really.

I exhaled slowly and looked down at the bear again. My fingers curled around its soft paw.

Maybe it was time to stop running.

A half hour went by. The security guard, a heavyset man with a thick mustache and tired eyes, had been glancing my way more often. At first, it was just casual, a quick scan of the waiting area. But now, his eyes lingered a little too long. I could feel it—his curiosity turning into suspicion.

I swallowed, pulling my hood further over my head and shrinking into my coat. Maybe if I stayed still enough, he'd lose interest. Maybe he'd decide I was just waiting for someone, not a kid with no ticket, no real reason to be sitting here for so long.

But when I stole another glance in his direction, I knew I wasn't fooling anyone.

He shifted his weight, adjusting his belt, and then—just as I feared—he started walking toward me.

Panic tightened my chest.

I could leave. Stand up and walk away like I had somewhere to be. But where would I go? Back outside into the cold, where I'd just be wandering aimlessly?

No. I had to stay put. Act normal.

I straightened my posture, trying to look like I belonged here, like I had a destination in mind and wasn't just some lost kid trying to figure out what to do next. But my hands betrayed me, gripping the little stuffed bear too tightly.

The security guard stopped a few feet away, tilting his head as he studied me. His voice was gruff but not unkind when he finally spoke.

"Everything alright, miss?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out at first. My throat was dry, my mind racing for an excuse.

"Yeah," I managed, forcing a nod. "I'm just... waiting."

He frowned slightly. "For someone?"

I hesitated. "Yeah."

He didn't look convinced. "They running late?"

I nodded again, but the movement felt stiff, unnatural. He must've noticed because his expression shifted, concern creeping in around the edges.

"You need help with anything?" he asked.

Yes. No. I didn't know.

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

The words felt weak, even to me.

The guard studied me a moment longer, then sighed. "Alright. But if you're waiting for a ride, you should call and check in. It's getting late."

I forced a tight-lipped smile, hoping it was enough to make him walk away. "I will."

He didn't move right away, but after another second, he gave a slow nod and turned, heading back toward his usual spot by the entrance.

I exhaled shakily, my hands trembling in my lap.

That was too close.

I couldn't sit here forever. If I stayed much longer, he'd come back, and this time, he might press harder. Maybe even ask for a ticket.

I needed to make a choice.

Go back. Or keep running.

I glanced down at the little bear again, took a deep breath and stood, my legs stiff from sitting too long. The security guard was still watching me, and I knew I couldn't just sit there forever. If I didn't move—if I didn't do something—he'd come back, and I wasn't sure I could talk my way out of it again.

I reached into my pocket, my fingers curling around the crumpled bills. It wasn't much, barely enough for a short ride, but maybe it would get me somewhere. Anywhere.

I took a shaky step toward the ticket counter.

There weren't many people left in line—a woman in a thick wool coat, a man with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a teenage girl staring at her phone. They all moved forward, one by one, handing over their money, taking their tickets, and disappearing toward their buses.

I swallowed hard and stepped up next.

The ticket agent barely even looked at me. He was middle-aged, his thinning hair slicked back, his fingers tapping against the keyboard like he had done this a million times.

"Where to?" he asked, his voice flat and uninterested.

I opened my mouth.

I was about to say something—anything—but just as the words were forming, just as I was about to hand over my money, someone grabbed my arm.

"Emily?"

The voice cut through the haze like a sudden burst of light. My head shot up, my breath catching in my throat. Mrs. Blake stood a few feet away, her face pale and drawn, her eyes wide with worry.

"How did you—" I started, my voice breaking.

She didn't let me finish. "What are you doing here?" she asked, stepping closer. "Why did you leave?"

The tears started again, and I couldn't stop them. "I—I thought... I thought you didn't want me," I stammered. "I thought you were talking about sending me away."

Mrs. Blake's expression crumbled, her hands reaching out to pull me into a hug. I didn't resist, collapsing into her arms as the sobs wracked my body.

"Oh, Emily," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You've got it all wrong. You've got it so wrong."

Her words were soothing, but the ache in my chest didn't disappear. Not yet. I clung to her, my fingers gripping the fabric of her coat as though letting go would make everything shatter again.

Mrs. Blake held me tight, her arms wrapped around me like she was afraid I might slip away again. I buried my face against her shoulder, my breath hitching, my chest still tight with the weight of everything I had been holding in.

"I heard what Mr. Blake said," I mumbled against her coat. "About needing to think long-term. About me being a—" I couldn't even say the word. A burden. A mistake. A problem.

She pulled back just enough to cup my face in her hands, her eyes searching mine. "Is that what you thought?" she asked, her voice breaking. "That we didn't want you?"

I bit my lip, my throat burning as I nodded.

"Oh, sweetheart." She shook her head, her hands trembling slightly. "That's not what he meant. Not at all."

I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her. But the fear still gnawed at me. "Then what did he mean?"

She sighed, brushing a stray tear from my cheek. "He's scared. Just like you. We both are. We want to do this right, Emily. We want to make sure we can give you everything you need, everything you deserve."

Her words hung between us, pressing down on me, making my heart ache in a way I couldn't quite explain.

"You're not a temporary thing to us," she said softly. "We love you."

Love.

The word sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over me. I had spent so long convincing myself I wasn't wanted, that I didn't belong anywhere, that hearing it now—so clear, so certain—felt almost impossible to believe.

I sniffled, gripping her coat tighter. "But what if I'm not enough?" I whispered.

Her arms tightened around me again. "Oh, honey. You are more than enough."

The ticket agent cleared his throat behind us, and I realized the whole station was still moving around us, people walking by, buses arriving and departing. I was still gripping the crumpled money in my fist.

Mrs. Blake glanced down at it, then back at me. "Were you really going to leave?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "I didn't know what else to do."

She exhaled slowly, like the thought of it alone hurt her. But she didn't scold me. She didn't get angry. Instead, she reached out and gently took my hand in hers.

"Come home," she said softly. "Please."

I looked down at our hands, at the warmth of hers against my cold fingers, and something inside me cracked wide open.

I had thought I was making a choice—run, or stay. But maybe, deep down, I had just been waiting.

Waiting for someone to come find me.

I squeezed her hand back. "Okay."

The car was warm, the heater humming softly as we drove through the dark, snow-lined streets. I stared out the window, my head resting against the cool glass. The glow of streetlights blurred as tears welled in my eyes again, though I wiped them away quickly.

Mrs. Blake hadn't said much since we left the station. She didn't have to. The car was quiet except for the steady hum of the heater and the soft crunch of tires against the snow-covered road. The silence wasn't heavy, though. It wasn't angry or disappointed. It just was.

I kept my gaze on the window, watching the world slip past in streaks of light and shadow. My breath fogged against the glass, fading just as quickly as it appeared. The lump in my throat hadn't gone away, but I swallowed it down, pressing my sleeve against my eyes to catch the last of my tears before they could fall.

Mrs. Blake noticed.

Her fingers tapped against the steering wheel for a second before she spoke, her voice gentle. "You don't have to hide that, you know."

I hesitated, my fingers tightening in my lap. "I'm fine."

She sighed, shaking her head slightly. "Emily."

Something about the way she said my name—soft, but steady—made my chest ache.

I didn't answer. I didn't know how to answer.

We passed by rows of houses, their windows glowing warm against the cold night. Families were inside, safe and together, probably sitting around fireplaces or just waking up. I wondered if they had ever felt like running, if they had ever sat at a bus station with no idea where they were supposed to go.

"I used to run, too."

Mrs. Blake's words were so quiet I almost didn't hear them.

I turned to look at her, confused. "You did?"

She nodded, her eyes still on the road. "A long time ago. I thought leaving was easier than facing what scared me."

I studied her, trying to imagine her being afraid of anything. She always seemed so sure, so put together. "Did it help?"

"No," she admitted. "Not really."

I swallowed hard. "Then what did?"

She glanced at me briefly before turning back to the road. "Letting someone in."

The words settled deep in my chest, pressing against all the walls I had built up.

I stared down at my hands, turning the little stuffed bear over in my fingers. I didn't know what to say. Maybe I didn't have to.

Because I had made a choice.

I hadn't gotten on that bus.

And somehow, Mrs. Blake had found me anyway.

The car clock glowed 5:07 AM.

I blinked at it, exhaustion pressing down on me like a heavy weight. I hadn't realized how drained I was until now. My body ached from the cold, from sitting on that hard bench for so long, from the emotional whirlwind of the night. My limbs felt sluggish, my thoughts slow, like my brain was running through deep snow.

Outside, the world was still asleep. The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows over the icy pavement. A fresh layer of snow covered the sidewalks, untouched except for the occasional tire tracks or footprints left behind by someone else awake at this ungodly hour.

I shifted against the seat, my breath fogging up the window again as I watched the empty streets roll past. A quiet yawn slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

Mrs. Blake must have noticed. "You should rest," she said gently. "It's been a long night."

I nodded, too tired to argue.

It wasn't a long drive back, maybe ten minutes at most, but my eyes kept slipping shut anyway. I forced them open each time, staring at the darkened houses and quiet roads, but the warmth of the car, the steady hum of the heater, and the feeling of safety I hadn't let myself believe in all night started to pull me under.

Before I knew it, we were pulling into the driveway. The porch light was still on, casting a soft glow over the snow-dusted steps. The house stood quiet and still, like it had been waiting for me to come back.

Mrs. Blake parked, but she didn't rush me. She just sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, as if giving me time to breathe.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, clutching the stuffed bear close as I followed her up the steps. The front door creaked open, letting in the familiar scent of home—coffee lingering from earlier, wood polish, something faintly sweet from whatever had been baked the day before.

Everything was exactly how we left it.

Except for me.

I wasn't sure what to say, but Mrs. Blake didn't expect anything. She just gave me a small, tired smile and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Go get some sleep," she said softly.

I didn't argue. My feet carried me to my room on their own, the exhaustion finally winning. The moment I stepped inside, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

I set the little bear on my nightstand before climbing under the covers, the warmth instantly wrapping around me. My eyes burned from crying, my body ached from the cold and from running, but for the first time in hours, I felt safe.

As I curled up beneath the blankets, sleep pulled me under almost instantly.

I was home.