Chapter 3 Remember To Bring Me Home
Rachel's POV
I woke to pale morning light filtering through the curtains, but I didn't move.
I'd been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, watching dust motes dance in the sunbeams. My mind felt empty, hollowed out.
I should probably be crying. Or screaming. Or planning another escape attempt. Instead, I just felt... numb.
Like all the fight had drained out of me during the night.
A soft knock at the door made me flinch, but I didn't sit up. Probably another doctor coming to poke and prod me, to prepare me for whatever they had planned.
"Come in," I said flatly, not bothering to look away from the ceiling.
The door opened, and as a familiar scent hit me, my head snapped toward the doorway, my heart stopping in an instant.
Henry stood there, looking... different. Cleaner than I'd seen him in years. His copper hair, so much like mine, was neatly combed back, and he'd shaved.
The expensive suit he wore was a far cry from the wrinkled shirts and stained pants I was used to seeing him in.
For a moment, he almost looked like the father I remembered from before Mom died.
But his eyes—those bloodshot blue eyes—gave him away. They darted around the room nervously, never quite meeting mine.
Why is he here? How is he here?
"Rachel, sweetheart." His voice was softer than I'd heard in years, almost tender. "Look at you. You look... you look so much better already."
I stared at him, too stunned to speak. When was the last time he'd called me sweetheart? When was the last time he'd looked at me without hatred burning in his eyes?
He approached slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. "I know you must be confused. I wanted to come see you sooner, but they said you needed time to rest and recover."
My throat felt dry as sandpaper. "What... what are you doing here?"
His face crumpled with what looked like genuine remorse as he settled into the chair beside my bed. "Oh, baby girl. I'm so sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry for everything." Tears actually welled up in his eyes. "The way I treated you, the way I let Isabel and Daniel treat you... it was unforgivable."
Why is he suddenly so gentle with me? It’s been so long since anyone called me "baby girl." I fought hard to hold back the tears threatening to spill.
I felt something dangerous flutter in my chest—hope. It had been so long since he'd shown me any kindness, any sign that he remembered I was his daughter and not just some burden to be endured.
"I've been getting help," he said, leaning forward earnestly. "Therapy, meetings. I stopped drinking, Rachel. Two days clean." He pulled out a coin from his pocket—some kind of sobriety chip. "I know it's not enough, not after everything, but I'm trying to be the father you deserve."
The tears started before I could stop them. "Dad, I—"
"No, let me finish." He reached for my hand, and I let him take it. His fingers were trembling. "I know what Daniel did to you. What he tried to do."
My whole body went rigid. Every time I'd tried to tell him, he'd been too drunk to listen or had accused me of lying, of trying to cause trouble.
"You knew?" My voice was barely a whisper.
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I saw a flash of the old anger. But this time, it wasn't directed at me. "That little bastard won't ever touch you again. I promise you that. I'm handling it."
He's going to protect me. The thought was so foreign, so desperately wanted, that I almost didn't dare believe it.
"I'm going to make this right," he said firmly. "All of it. The pack, our family, everything. You're going to have the life your mother wanted for you."
Something warm and treacherous bloomed in my chest. Maybe... maybe he really had changed. Maybe the father I remembered was still in there somewhere.
Overwhelmed, I burst into sobs, throwing my arms around my dad and crying out, "Dad!"
He gently patted my back, murmuring, "My good girl, you've suffered so much."
I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually, my tears stopped flowing. I pulled away from him, knowing there were questions I needed answers to.
"But Dad," I said slowly, "why am I here? Tyler said—"
I stopped, not sure how to finish. Tyler had said they were taking me away, but he'd never explained where or why.
Father's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. The warmth in his eyes flickered for just a moment before returning. "Well, that's... that's part of how I'm making things right."
Warning bells started going off in my head. "What do you mean?"
"You know our pack has been struggling financially," he said, his tone becoming more careful. "Ever since your mother died, I made some... poor decisions. Got in over my head with some debts."
I asked, "What kind of debts?"
"The kind that put our whole pack at risk," he replied. "I had some business dealings with Alpha Blackwood. Good man, very understanding. When I explained our situation, he offered to help."
Nathan Blackwood. The name made my skin crawl. I'd heard the guards mention him, seen the fear in their eyes.
"How?" I asked, though I was starting to dread the answer.
Father's smile looked strained now. "He offered you a position here. In his household. Good pay, excellent benefits. You'd be working as... as a maid. Helping with domestic affairs."
I stared at him. "A maid."
"Yes! Isn't that wonderful? You always were so good at taking care of things around the house. And the money you'd earn would help clear our debts, get the pack back on its feet."
Every word felt like a lie, even though I couldn't put my finger on why. Something about the way he wouldn't quite meet my eyes, the way his fingers drummed nervously against his knee.
"If I'm supposed to be working as a maid," I said slowly, "then why am I in what looks like a medical facility? Why was Dr. Carter talking about hormone treatments?"
Father's face went very still. "Hormone treatments?"
"I overheard the doctors talking. About injections, about the Alpha's expectations." I watched his expression carefully. "What aren't you telling me, Dad?"
He let out a shaky breath. "Rachel, sweetheart, that was just to confirm you're healthy as a maid. Don't worry."
I looked at him skeptically, my voice trembling as I questioned, "Really, Dad?"
He nodded firmly. "Yes, and I'll deal with your brother. I'll also protect everything your mother built. And I'll also deal with your stepmother. Trust me, my daughter. It won't be long before I can bring you back home."
My heart churned with a storm of emotions—hope flickered like a fragile flame, yet doubt gnawed at me, heavy and cold, as memories of betrayal clashed with the desperate longing to believe him.
My chest tightened, a lump forming in my throat, and my fingers fidgeted nervously with the edge of my sleeve. After a tense pause, I gave a small, hesitant nod.
His face lit up with relief and joy. "Thank you, my good daughter. But it's getting late, I have to go now. Rest well, and I'll come see you again soon."
I nodded gently, tears welling in my eyes, and said, "Dad, please remember to bring me home."
My dad's movement to stand froze for a fleeting moment, then he replied, "Don't worry, I won't forget."