freedom taste like you

Chapter 9

♡ Emma’s POV (Mrs Garfield) ♡

“Shhh, lower your voices. She’s still sleeping.”

I whispered sharply as I turned toward my husband and son, who were already bickering across the kitchen counter. My husband, arms crossed and brows furrowed, looked unconvinced. My son leaned back against the stool beside him, glancing toward the ceiling as if the girl upstairs were some strange secret we’d smuggled in.

“Emma, did you even have second thoughts about this?” my husband asked in a low but firm voice. “You don’t even know her.”

“Yeah, Mum, come on,” my son chimed in, his tone somewhere between worry and teenage irritation.

I sighed and placed the pan I was holding on the counter, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel. “Oh, that’s enough, both of you. I did think this through. The poor girl was standing alone on the side of the road looking terrified. What was I supposed to do, just drive off and pretend I didn’t see her?”

Neither of them answered. My husband’s frown softened just a little, and my son looked down at his phone, clearly defeated.

“She’s staying with us for a while,” I continued, lowering my voice but making sure my words were final. “At least until I can find a proper orphanage or a safe home for her.”

My husband let out a low grumble, but I caught the worry in his eyes. He was a good man, just cautious, and I couldn’t blame him for that. Still, my instincts told me this girl needed help, and I wasn’t about to ignore that.

“Fine,” he muttered at last. “Just be careful, okay?”

I gave him a reassuring smile and brushed his hand lightly as I passed. “I will. And now, I’ll go make breakfast before she wakes up.”

As I made my way to the kitchen, I couldn’t help glancing toward the stairs again. Poor thing, she’d looked so fragile, so lost. Whoever she was, something about her tugged at my heart in a way I couldn’t explain.

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♡ Amber’s POV ♡

I woke up to the soft touch of a hand on my face.

Blinking a few times, my vision slowly focused on Emma, the woman who had saved me, smiling down at me. Morning sunlight spilt into the room through the curtains, painting her golden hair in a warm glow.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she said gently, her voice soft enough to melt the tension in my chest. “Breakfast is ready.”

I smiled weakly and pushed myself up to sit. “Oh, um, sorry if I just got up now,” I murmured, glancing down at my hands. My fingers fidgeted in my lap, as if trying to hide how nervous I was.

Emma laughed lightly and waved a hand. “Oh, nonsense, dearie. You were tired. You needed the rest.” She stood up and smoothed her dress, that kind smile never leaving her face. “We’re waiting for you downstairs. Get ready and take your time, there’s no rush.”

As she turned to leave, something in me panicked. “Wait.”

She stopped and looked back, her expression gentle. “Yes, dear?”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice small but sincere. “For everything.”

Her eyes softened even more, and she smiled. “It’s fine, darling,” she said before leaving the room quietly.

When the door closed behind her, I sat still for a long moment, staring at the space she’d just walked through.

I should have felt calm, safe, grateful. And I did, I really did, but beneath all that, my stomach churned with nervousness. Who exactly was waiting downstairs? Her family? What would they think when they saw me? Would they judge me by my messy past, even though they didn’t know it?

My thoughts tangled into knots as I got out of bed and looked around the room again. Everything was so clean, so perfect. And somehow, there was everything I needed, clothes, shoes, even makeup neatly arranged on a dressing table.

It was like she knew I was coming.

That thought made me pause for a second before I shook it off. Maybe she had a daughter before. Or maybe she was expecting someone to stay. Either way, I wasn’t about to question the first kindness I’d been shown in years.

I picked out a soft blue dress and brushed through my hair. When I finally stood in front of the mirror, I barely recognised the girl staring back.

She looked calm, composed, not like the frightened girl who had escaped through a window and run until her lungs burned.

For a moment, I just stared, tilting my head. Was this what normal felt like?

I smiled softly, the first genuine smile I’d given myself in a long time. “You can do this,” I whispered to my reflection. “You’re safe now.”

Taking a deep breath, I walked toward the door, my heart thumping harder with every step.

As I made my way downstairs, my hands began to tremble a little, and I pressed them against my sides to steady them. From the living room, I could already hear quiet voices, one deep, one lighter, younger. Probably Emma’s husband and son.

I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, biting my lip.

What if they didn’t want me here? What if they told me to leave?

No. Emma said it was okay. She said I could stay.

So I straightened my shoulders and took one careful step forward, forcing a small smile onto my face.

The sunlight from the wide windows poured over the polished floor, and the smell of something delicious, pancakes maybe, or toast, drifted from the kitchen. For the first time in so long, it felt like I was stepping into a real home.

I hoped that when they saw me, they’d see more than a broken girl.

I hoped they’d see someone worth saving.