Chapter 25. Home Again

As the Rolls-Royce pulled up to the familiar address, Aleysia felt a surge of anticipation and trepidation. This was the home of her childhood, the place where she had grown up before fate had dealt her a cruel hand.

When Timothy gently informed her that they had arrived, Aleysia refused to be guided, determined to experience this moment on her own terms. Whitney, sensing Aleysia's need for independence, gave Timothy a reassuring gesture, silently communicating her trust in Aleysia's ability to navigate this moment.

Acknowledging the unspoken understanding, Timothy handed the house key to Aleysia, stepping back to allow her the space she needed. And just watch her from behind; stand next to Whitney.

With a deep breath, Aleysia stepped out of the car, her fingers tracing the familiar contours of the key as she slowly made her way towards the front steps. Each step was a journey through her past, her sightless eyes straining to conjure up the images of her childhood home that were so deeply etched in her memory.

The cracked sidewalk, the weathered front door, the overgrown flower bed—she couldn't believe even after seven years nobody fixed the flower bed—every detail, every crook and nanny, was seared into her mind, a proof to the countless hours she had spent exploring the sanctuary of her youth.

As she ascended the steps, Aleysia's heart raced, her fingers trembling as she slid the key into the lock. With a deep breath, she turned the handle, the familiar creak of the door filling her with bittersweet nostalgia.

Stepping over the threshold, Aleysia felt a rush of emotions wash over her. The scent was different, but she still can smell the slight scent of her stepmother's perfume, one she hates the most. She then remembers the faint sound of laughter of her and her parents that had once echoed through these halls—it all came rushing back, overwhelming her senses and transporting her to a time long gone.

With each tentative step, Aleysia retraced the paths she had once taken, her fingertips caressing the worn wooden bannister, the paint on the walls, and the curtains that had once filtered the sunlight into her sanctuary.

This was her home, the place where she had found solace, where she had dreamed of a future filled with endless possibilities. And now, after years of being torn from her, she had returned, ready to reclaim the memories that had once been so cruelly taken from her.

Aleysia slowly made her way through the familiar rooms, her fingertips tracing every detail, each surface a testament to the life she had once known. But as she explored, she couldn't help but notice the subtle changes that had occurred in her absence.

Yolanda's voice echoed from behind her: "Some things have changed, but everything remains the same."

Aleysia nodded; her senses heightened. "I can smell it," she murmured, taking in the scents that had once been so comforting.

"Seems like Brooklyn made a lot of renovations," Yolanda continued. "And there's also a swimming pool behind the house."

Aleysia's brow furrowed, her focus shifting. "What about my parents' things?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Jamal joined them, his tone somber. "The permanent furniture remains the same, but the rest, I think she got rid of everything."

Aleysia's heart sank. "No!" she cried out, the weight of her loss pressing down on her.

Timothy, sensing Aleysia's distress, spoke up. "We can check the basement," he suggested. "This house has a basement, right?"

Aleysia's expression brightened with hope. "Yes! Yes, let's check the basement!" she exclaimed, rushing towards the door that led to the lower level of the house.

Hurrying down the steps, Aleysia's fingers traced the familiar walls, searching for the light switch. As the basement was illuminated, Whitney, who's following right behind Aleysia's gasp,.

"It's all here, Ale," Whitney's voice calmed Aleysia's anxious heart. "It's all here, don't worry."

Everything was stacked neatly against the walls, the remnants of Aleysia's childhood. Her father's prized gramophone, her mother's delicate keepsakes, and her own cherished albums and photographs—all preserved, a testament to the memories that had been so cruelly taken from her.

Aleysia ran her hands over the familiar objects, a mix of joy and sorrow washing over her. "They're all here," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "My parents' things—everything I thought was lost—it's all here."

Yolanda and Jamal gathered around her, their own faces reflecting the bittersweet nature of the moment. "We'll make sure to preserve it all, Ale," Yolanda murmured, her arm wrapped around Aleysia and tightening her embrace.

Jamal stepped forward, his hand gently squeezing Aleysia's shoulder. "Your father's gramophone, your mother's keepsakes—we'll treat them with the utmost care. They deserve nothing less."

Aleysia turned towards the sound of their voices, her sightless eyes brimming with gratitude. "Thank you, oh my God, thank you," she whispered, her words a heartfelt expression of the immense relief and joy that filled her. Aleysia didn't know who she should give her thanks to, as she feels everyone is helping her to get back everything that has been lost from her.

Timothy, standing quietly in the corner, watched the scene unfold with a bittersweet smile. Discreetly, he pulled out his phone and recorded the moment, capturing the family's embrace and Aleysia's reaction to the keepsake of her parent's from the past. With a few taps, he sent the footage to Medusa.

The reply was instantaneous, Medusa's words conveying her own gratitude and understanding. "Thank you, Timo," she had written back to Timothy.

As Aleysia navigated the familiar rooms of her childhood home, her fingers tracing every contour and surface, a flood of memories washed over her. The creaking of the floorboards, the soft hues of the walls, the scent of her mother's perfume—it was all so achingly familiar, yet tinged with the bittersweet ache of time's passage.

She paused in the entryway, her hands gliding along the smooth wood of the front door, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "This door, I remember the way it used to creak when I pulled it open, eager to explore the world beyond."

Slowly, she made her way into the living room, her fingers caressing the worn fabric of the armchair where her father would sit, reading aloud to her on lazy afternoons. "The chair is still here, just as I remember it."

Yolanda and Jamal watched in reverent silence as Aleysia retraced the steps of her childhood, with Whitney following her. Aleysia's sightless eyes see beyond the physical realm, her memory guiding her through the intricate tapestry of her past.

"The curtains are different," Aleysia noted, her fingers brushing against the unfamiliar fabric. "And the rug—it's not the one I remember."

Yolanda gently placed a hand on her sister's arm, her voice soft. "Brooklyn must have redecorated, Ale. But the bones of the house are still the same."

Aleysia nodded, her fingers tracing the familiar contours of the fireplace mantel, where her mother's precious keepsakes had once been displayed. "Some things have changed, but the essence of this home remains."

She moved through the rooms, her steps unhurried, her senses drinking in every detail. The kitchen, where the scent of her mother's cooking had once filled the air; the staircase, where she had raced up and down, her laughter echoing through the halls—all of it was there, just as she remembered, yet subtly altered by the passage of time.

As she reached the top of the stairs, her fingers gliding along the new bannister, Aleysia paused, a wistful expression crossing her face. "My room, I wonder if it's still the same."

As Aleysia pushed open the door to her former bedroom, a wave of disorientation washed over her. Instead of the familiar layout and personal touches she had once cherished, the space had been transformed into a home office, its modern decor a stark contrast to the warmth and familiarity she had expected.

Her fingers traced the sleek lines of the desk, the cool surfaces a far cry from the soft fabrics and personal mementos that had once adorned the room. The once-vibrant walls had been painted a neutral tone, the vibrant hues of her childhood replaced by a more muted palette.

Aleysia's brow furrowed, her sightless eyes searching for any remnants of the past, desperate to find a connection to the room that had once been her sanctuary. "It's all different," she murmured, her voice tinged with a mix of disappointment and resignation.

Aleysia's fingers traced the unfamiliar surface of the desk, her mind's eye desperately trying to conjure the image of the room as it had once been. "My bed, my dresser, my books—they're all gone," she whispered, her voice wavering with a bittersweet mix of emotion.

She paused, her expression thoughtful. "I think that's what seven years did to this house, right?"

Yolanda's heart ached as she watched the play of emotions across her sister's face. Gently, she wrapped a comforting arm around Aleysia. "Oh, Ale," she sighed, her voice thick with empathy.

Aleysia's lips curled into a soft smile. "At least I still have my mother and father's keepsakes," she murmured, her fingers tracing the delicate patterns that had once adorned her childhood. "That's what's important to me."

Yolanda nodded, her own gaze filled with reverence. "Yes, of course."

As the family continued their exploration of the transformed spaces, they finally settled in the middle of the house, their bodies weary but their spirits resilient. The idea of getting a food delivery popped out of their minds, and Timothy stepped forward, his expression apologetic.

"I'm afraid I must take my leave," he said. "But I'll make sure that everything is taken care of and that you have everything you need."

Aleysia turned towards the sound of his voice, her sightless eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Timothy, for everything," she said, her words a heartfelt expression of her appreciation. With a final nod, Timothy excused himself, leaving the Owen family to the quiet contemplation of their newfound surroundings.