Sara had brief moments of clarity—flickers of lucidity in which she could speak honestly and directly with Nick. During those rare moments, she admitted the truth: if she didn't recover her long-lost freedom, she would end her life for real.
But her recovery was painfully slow. It was made even slower by the fact that her mind refused to cooperate. Her mental enslavement still clung to her like a second skin. And yet, she recognized Nick as her "owner," which at least allowed her to fulfill basic needs.
She wouldn't speak when she had to relieve herself. Nick had learned to gently check her abdomen for signs of discomfort, to understand her body's needs before they overwhelmed her. Irina had warned him—this particular trauma would be the hardest to heal. Undoing such deep programming would require time, infinite care, and endless patience.
Now, husband and wife lived together in a private room at the clinic. Only Nick and Irina had the key. No one else was allowed to disturb her peace.
In her moments of clarity, Nick preferred to keep her close—away from the noises of other patients, which frightened her. Whenever Sara heard the screams or cries from the hallways, she would cling tightly to Nick, trembling.
He was the only one allowed to touch her—and the only one she willingly touched. Nick never left her side.
When she needed to be injected with medication, Nick held her gently in his arms, whispering soothing words into her ear. That was the only way she remained calm, though her body continued to tremble like a leaf.
They were lying in bed together when it happened again—Sara crying softly against his chest, her arms wrapped around him, her spirit exhausted.
She felt safe there, but the tears wouldn't stop.
She trembled constantly.
The moment she felt her mind returning, the pain and shame pushed her back into madness. It was the only place she could hide.
—"Please, my love," Nick whispered softly. "Please don't go. Don't shut yourself away."
—"I can't do this… I don't want to be here…"
—"Sara, I'm begging you. Don't leave me. Stay with me. Trust me."
She looked up at him, her violet eyes filled with despair.
She still saw herself as a slave—no matter how anyone tried to tell her otherwise.
Her sanity depended entirely on obeying the last command she could cling to.
Nick hated it.
But he needed her stable enough for Irina to help her.
Each day passed slowly. Nick showed her photos of Anthony and Ana, now six years old. Those were the only things that truly brought light to Sara's eyes. Her babies. Her reason to keep fighting.
And yet, as her strength returned, so too did her emotional distance. She was colder now, more reserved. Her smile was rare. Her laughter almost gone.
She let Nick hold her, but she never laughed with him the way she did with the photos of her children. Her heart had built walls so high that not even love could climb over them easily.
Nick touched her only with the greatest care—never letting passion guide his actions, knowing how fragile she still was.
At night, she couldn't sleep without sedation. Her body needed rest, but her mind would never quiet.
After eight long months, Irina finally gave them the news.
—"She's strong enough," she said. "She's not completely healed… but she can continue her recovery at home. Nick, she'll need you with her constantly. The medications are essential."
—"I'll never leave her side," Nick promised. "I'll help her find herself again."
When they stepped out of the clinic, Sara gasped for air, like someone who hadn't breathed freely in years. She clutched Nick's arm tightly. Her steps were slow, but her eyes scanned the world with hunger and fear.
She was free.
But she didn't know what freedom meant anymore.
Nick held her hand all the way home.
When they arrived at the mansion, he brought her upstairs to their room. Then he left briefly—only to return with their children.
The moment Sara saw them, tears spilled down her cheeks.
Anthony and Ana ran to her joyfully—although Ana, being the more cautious of the two, hesitated and stayed behind Nick.
Nick knelt, hugging both children tightly. He had missed them more than words could say. He had often told them about their mother, showing them her photos and telling stories with the hope that someday, she would return.
Now… she had.
Sara knelt to the ground as Anthony ran into her arms. She embraced him and stood, holding him tightly to her chest.
—"I'm glad you came home, Mom," Anthony said with a sweet, cheerful smile. "Our dad missed you so much."
—"And I missed all three of you," she whispered, rocking him gently.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She held him as if afraid to let go.
He looked just like Nick.
She saw him not only as her child—but as the bridge to the man she once loved so deeply.
Then, carefully, she put him down and turned to Ana.
The little girl still stared at her, uncertain. She didn't run. She didn't speak.
Sara knelt again and opened her arms.
Ana approached slowly, hesitantly.
When she was close enough, Sara gently wrapped her arms around her and picked her up.
It felt like the world paused.
But Ana's body stiffened. She looked at Sara with wide eyes, unsure.
—"Put me down… please… Mom Sara," she whispered.
—"Ana," Nick said gently. "You'll need to get used to your mom's hugs. She's here now, and she loves you."
But Sara shook her head softly.
—"It's okay," she said. "Let her feel safe."
She set Ana down. The little girl ran back to Nick, hiding in his arms.
Sara watched them quietly, a strange calm on her face.
Then she picked Anthony back up and kissed his forehead.
Nick stepped closer.
—"We'll be a family again," he said.
Sara turned to him.
Her expression was unreadable. Cold, perhaps. Or simply guarded.
But Nick saw the truth in her eyes.
She needed time. She needed them.
She needed love.
Sara breathed in deeply, letting the feeling of home fill her.
Seven years in darkness.
But now—she had a place to return to.
And she would fight… one breath at a time… to truly come back.