Page 77 of Run Omega Run
Each girl's examination revealed similar patterns... malnutrition that would require time and proper feeding to address, exhaustion that went deeper than simple sleep deprivation, rope burns, and bruises. But Cole's clinical observations emphasized recovery prospects rather than dwelling on trauma details.
"You're all remarkably resilient," he told them when the examinations were complete, packing away his supplies. "Your bodies are already beginning to heal. With proper nutrition, rest, and time, there's no medical reason you shouldn't make a complete physical recovery."
Sara, the blonde girl who'd shown flashes of her former confidence, surprised everyone by speaking directly to him. "What about the other stuff?" She asked, her voice pained. "The things they did that don't leave marks you can see?"
Cole's expression grew gentler, if such a thing were possible. "Psychological healing takes longer than physical healing," he said honestly. "But a friend of mine will stop by to see each of you.”
“Who is she?” Sara asked.
“She’s a psychologist, and an expert with trauma victims. I’ve seen real progress with many of her patients.”
Sara smiled slightly then. Hope lit up her eyes. “You have to remember,” Cole began. “What you’re feeling is real, and mental wellbeing is as important as physical health. It's just as real, and healing from this is possible. You're not broken, any of you. You've been hurt, but hurt isn't the same thing as broken.”
I felt my chest warm with pride watching him handle their questions with such a perfect balance of honesty and hope. These girls needed to understand that recovery was possible without minimizing the magnitude of what they'd endured. They needed medical authority that validated their experiences while promising that those experiences didn't define their futures.
The youngest girl, who couldn't have been more than thirteen, had remained silent throughout her examination but had accepted Cole's gentle care without flinching. Now she looked up at him with eyes that held the first traces of trust I'd seen from any of them.
"Will we always be scared?" She asked. The question carried the pain of someone whose world had been reduced to fear and survival for so long that other emotional states seemed like impossible luxuries.
Cole knelt to bring himself to her eye level. "Fear is normal after what you've been through," he said simply. "But it won't always be this big, this overwhelming. With time, safety and people who care about you, fear becomes just one feeling among many others, instead of the only feeling that seems to matter."
His words carried genuine compassion. It was exactly what these traumatized children needed to hear. They needed to believe that healing was possible.
Around the kitchen, I could see shoulders relaxing further, see small faces beginning to show interest in the abundance of food that represented not just nourishment but the promise that their basic needs would be met without struggle or compromise.
They were safe now, and slowly, carefully, they were beginning to believe it might be permanent.
Chapter 34
Heather
Three weeks had transformed our mansion from a bachelor pack's organized space into something that resembled controlled chaos held together by love and determination. The rescued girls had begun to bloom like flowers finally given proper soil and sunlight, their natural personalities emerging from the protective shells that trauma had forced them to construct for survival.
Maya, who'd been the first to trust Cole's medical care, had revealed herself to be naturally artistic, spending hours sketching the other children with supplies that Bennett had procured. Her drawings captured not just their physical features but something essential about their spirits, like Loubie Lou's irrepressible amusement, Tomas's quiet observation, Dylan's gentle strength. Each portrait was a gift that said, "I see you, you matter, you're worth preserving in art."
Sara had appointed herself unofficial social director, organizing games and activities that brought the younger children into comfortable interaction with the older girls. Her leadership skills found new joy in creating family traditions and ensuring no one felt left out of group activities.
The others followed similar patterns of gradual emergence. Emma, barely fourteen with dark eyes that had seen toomuch, discovered she had a gift for storytelling that could hold even Loubie Lou's attention through entire narratives. Rachel, whose frail frame was slowly gaining healthy weight, possessed a singing voice that could transform ordinary moments into something magical. Lisa and Jennifer, who'd originally been inseparable for mutual protection, developed individual interests while maintaining the bond that had helped them survive captivity.
The mansion itself had adapted to accommodate its expanded population with surprising grace. What had once been a perfect space for four adult men had become a multi-generational household where teenage girls' clothing appeared in laundry loads, where bathroom schedules required complex negotiation, and where muted conversations about healing and hope replaced previous professional schedules.
Becky had become an invaluable ally in managing this transformation, appearing daily with supplies, help, and the particular understanding that came from someone who recognized family formation in all its unconventional manifestations. Her gentle presence was a bridge between the children's past at the orphanage and their current reality of family abundance.
She'd developed a special gift for plaiting hair, which had become both a practical necessity and therapeutic ritual as the rescued girls' locks recovered from weeks of neglect. Every morning found her at the kitchen table with combs and ribbons, creating elaborate styles that made each girl feel beautiful and cared for. The morning hairstyling sessions had developed into informal therapy, providing a safe space for conversations about fears and hopes and the gradual process of learning to trust that safety might be permanent.
