Unloved Unclaimed Unbound

Chapter Nine – Serenya

On Sunday, I sat on my bed, looking at the spread of the little things I brought with me. In my haste to leave my parents' house, I had just thought of what I needed in that moment. I didn’t think that clothes may be something I should have needed. But Mr. Dravenholt had noticed. Apparently, the following morning, he sent Elyria and someone on his staff to pick out clothes for me. I looked at some of the clothes that Elyria had picked out, she had good taste and for someone who did not know me at all, she pegged me to a T. I folded another shirt and placed it in the bag and noticed movement at my bedroom door. Looking up I seen Mr. Dravenholt.

“Why are you packing?” he asks.

“School starts back tomorrow. I need to get what I need for when I stay in the dorms.” I state matter-of-factly.

“You’ve been living in the dorms? Since you were sixteen?” Mr. Dravenholt asks as he steps into my room.

I look up at him as he puts his hands behind his back. I give a dry laugh and shrug. “'Living' is generous. It’s four walls, a bed and a lock on the door that’s supposed to keep people out, but it barely does. Still, better than my parents’ house. At least there, I could breathe.”

I watched Mr. Dravenholt’s as he stood silently assessing me for a moment, taking in what I’ve just told him. Then shook his head. “That won’t be necessary anymore. You’ll stay here at the estate. Jakob will drive you to and from school. No more dorms.”

“You say that like it is already decided. Thought I was supposed to have a choice now,” I said to him sharply.

Mr. Dravenholt’s mouth curved, it didn’t seem as though it was in mockery, but something else. “You do. You are right, you absolutely have a choice. You could insist on the dorms, and I wouldn’t chain you to this house. But think it though,” patience, that’s what it was. He moved to my window, gesturing toward the sweeping view of the mountains, “The dorms offer... what? Noise. Paper-thin walls. No privacy. No protection. You’ve survived there, but you haven’t lived. Here, you have space. Safety. A driver who won’t let you walk across dark parking lots alone; he waits for you. A family who is already curious about you, who wants to know you. And me—making sure no one, not even your parents, touches the life you’re trying to build.”

I opened my mouth to argue but faltered. He hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t issued an ultimatum or decree. He simply laid the truth bare.

He continued, “So yes, you can choose the dorms. But if you’re hoping to convince me it’s the better option, you’ll fail. Because the pros of being here outweigh the cons in every way that matters. I’ll warn you, no matter how you try to dissuade me—I'm very good at winning arguments.” He gives a wink.

“You make it sound so simple.” I mutter softly.

Mr. Dravenholt’s answer was gentle, but unwavering. “Sometimes it is, Serenya.” He inclined his head slightly, then turned to leave, his footsteps quiet down the hall. I stood there frozen, staring at the clothes I had just folded and packed.

With a sigh, I take the bag and dump its contents on my bed, muttering to myself, “I guess I’m not going back.” Clothes and toiletries spill across the comforter. My phone’s weight in my back pocket nags at me. Pulling it out, I tap it against my palm. I should text Dr. Hale, but it’s Sunday. He’s probably busy, or with family, or doing something more important than talking to me.

Me: Are you available to talk in person? ...

I stare at it, shake my head, and press send anyway. Then toss my phone onto the bed and begin refolding the things I dumped out. I don’t expect anything—not on a Sunday. But then the sharp buzz of a text message cuts through the silence.

Dr. Hale: Of course, Serenya. I’ll be at the estate within the hour.

--

As I put the last of the things I had packed back where they go, I turned to the sound of someone tapping on my door jamb. Elyria walks in through the open door. She is holding a book in her hand.

“You look like you just had a talk with my dad,” she states, matter of fact.

I scoffed, “It felt more like a lecture. How’d you know?”

She smiles as she comes further into the room. “Isolde has the same expression on her face when she thinks she can try to sweet talk him into what she wants.” She chuckles, setting her book on my nightstand, “Spoiler alert, it never works. What did he talk to you about?”

I smiled, “He told me there’s no need for me to live in the dorms anymore. That Jakob will drive me to and from school every day. He gave me a speech about it’s my choice—you can stay in the dorms, but the estate has all these advantages.’ Except he made it clear it wasn’t really a choice. I mean, how am I supposed to argue with that?”

Elyria’s eyebrow furrowed. “So, you feel like he's trying to make the decision for you, even if he’s dressing it up as your choice?”

I shrugged and gave a snort. “Exactly. Like a magician’s trick. ‘Pick a card, any card,’ but the deck is stacked. I didn’t want to argue because honestly? He's right. The estate is safer, easier, more... everything if I’m being honest. But—” I faltered, voice catching. “I spent the last year and a half convincing myself that staying I the dorms meant independence. It was the only space I had that wasn’t controlled by my parents. Walking away from that feels like admitting I don’t get a say anymore. That I’m just... giving in.”

I hear Elyria give a soft chuckle and look at her smiling face. “Serenya, you said it yourself; you convinced yourself that the dorms meant independence. And maybe it’s not giving in. Maybe it’s outgrowing it. You held onto those dorms because they were the only scrape of freedom you had. But now? You’re not trapped the way you were. You have people here who want you safe. Who aren’t going to punish you for choosing comfort over scraps.”

I blinked at her, startled by the clarity in Elyria’s words. I gave a small smirk. “Are you the wise child in the family?”

Elyria laughed. "No, I just have a couple of lawyers that I look up to. Trust me, I’ve learned to pick my battles with them. But I will take that as a compliment."

This earns a laugh from me—a real one. I wiped my eyes. “Thanks, Elyria. For not making me feel stupid about all this. Maybe I should have waited before texting Dr. Hale to talk to him.”

“You're not stupid. You’re just finally figuring out what freedom actually looks like. And it can be messy. But you aren’t alone in it.” Elyria says gently, picking up her book. “You should still talk with Dr. Hale, maybe he can offer another perspective."

--

Later, in my corner of the library, Dr. Hale sits across from me, hands folded loosely, expression calm but attentive. “So,” he begins, “What is it that you’d like to talk to me about? Tell me what is on your mind.”

“Mr. Davenholt said that I don’t need the dorms anymore. That Jakob will drive me to and from school. He said, I have a choice, but... Then I had a conversation with Elyria afterward. About it to.” He nods, so I continue. “She told me that I had said it myself, that I had to convince myself that the dorms meant independence. That I am figuring out what freedom looks like.” I glance at my hands.

“And what do you think she meant by that?” Dr. Hale asks.

“That if I chose the dorms, it wouldn’t be for independence. It would be because I am scared. Defaulting to it because it feels familiar. That choosing the estate didn’t mean giving up freedom.”

Dr. Hale smiles. “Elyria sounds perceptive. Sometimes, those who are closest to us, even knowing them for such a short amount of time, can voice truths we’re not ready to say ourselves.”

“Mr. Dravenholt told me I had a choice, but that the benefits of staying here outweigh the dorms. That trying to convince him otherwise... wouldn’t work. He wasn’t wrong. But when he said it, it felt like pressure. When Elyria said it... it felt different, like something Kaelith would say.”

Dr. Hale leans back slightly, steepling his fingers. “You’re caught in a false dichotomy. Your parents designed the marriage contract and conservatorship to take away your choices. That’s what makes you feel chained—because you were never given a say. Now that you’re reclaiming your voice, even the act of choosing safety feels like it’s ‘giving in.’ But here’s the truth: making an empowered choice is not weakness, Serenya. It’s the very definition of agency.”

I exhale, staring at my hands. “It doesn’t feel that way. It feels like…”

“Like you’re still reacting to their shadow,” Dr. Hale finishes for me.

I nod.

He shifts slightly forward, his tone softening. “Elyria is right. You aren’t surrendering by staying in the estate. You’re securing yourself a foundation. Safety gives you the ability to grow. To breathe. You’ve had survival as your baseline for so long that safety feels like dependence. But survival and safety are not the same. One is fear. The other is choice.”

I blink hard, pressing my knuckles to my lips. “Then why does it feel so damn complicated?”

“Because,” Dr. Hale says gently, “healing always is. And you’re just beginning to learn that it’s okay for peace to feel unfamiliar.”

We sat in silence for a few beats, the sound of the fire crackling in the grate filling the room. My chest aches, but the knot in my throat loosens, just a little.

Dr. Hale clears his throat softly, reaching down into his bag. “I know you haven’t decided if you want to keep a journal. Writing can feel… exposing. Sometimes more than speaking.” He sets a slim leather-bound book and a pen on the low table between us.

I glance at it, hesitant.

“If you don’t use it for journaling,” he adds with a faint smile, “then maybe for sketching. It doesn’t have to hold your words.”

I reached for the journal, fingers brushing the smooth cover. "Thank you, Dr. Hale.”