When Helen Came

Third POV:

Helen sat on the edge of the hospital bed, folding her few belongings into a small bag. The room smelled sterile, the sharp scent of disinfectant lingering in the air, but she barely noticed. The past few weeks had been a blur—therapy sessions, careful conversations, doctors. But now, she was finally leaving. 

Josette stood near the door, arms crossed, watching as Helen packed. "You know," she said casually, "since you don't have anywhere to go yet, you can stay with me until you figure things out." 

Helen paused, frowning slightly. "Why would I need to figure things out? I already have a house." 

Josette's expression faltered. "What do you mean?" 

Helen reached into her bag, pulling out a folded paper and handing it over. "Here. It has all my personal information on it. My address is right there." 

Josette took the paper hesitantly, her eyes scanning over the text. The moment she saw the address, she let out a quiet sigh.  

It wasn't just Helen's house—it was his house. The one she had moved into with him before everything fell apart. Helen didn't know that. She didn't remember. And since Tom wasn't around anymore... what harm could there be in letting her stay there? 

Josette forced a smile, handing the paper back. "Right. Yeah, I guess that makes sense." 

Helen narrowed her eyes slightly. "You hesitated." 

"It's just... it's been a while since you've been there," Josette said carefully. "Are you sure you'll be comfortable?" 

Helen shrugged. "If it's my house, then yeah." 

Josette didn't argue. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe, in some strange way, that house could help Helen remember—or at least, help her feel like she wasn't completely lost. 

"Alright," Josette said, her voice light but her chest tight. "Let's get you home."

~~~~

Helen waved Josette off with a small smile before stepping inside. The house wasn't big, but it had a warmth to it—something about the way the furniture was arranged, the way the light filtered in through the windows. It felt... lived in. Familiar, in a way she couldn't quite place. 

She set her bag down by the door and took her time walking through the rooms, running her fingers over the wooden surfaces, the edges of shelves, the fabric of the couch. Everything was neat, as if someone had taken care to keep it that way. 

When she reached the bedroom, she paused. The space was simple, but something about it made her hesitate. Slowly, she stepped inside, taking in the surroundings before finally lowering herself onto the bed. 

As soon as her head hit the pillow, the scent of the other pillow wrapped around her—warm, steady. It wasn't anything floral or sharp like the hospital's linens. It was softer, something grounding, something safe. It made her eyes flutter shut. 

Helen turned onto her side, pulling the pillow close without thinking. The weight of it in her arms, the way the scent lingered, made her feel still for the first time in weeks. No questions, no confusion—just peace.

Helen shifted slightly, adjusting the pillow beneath her head, but something solid pressed against her fingers. She frowned, sitting up and reaching under it. Her hand closed around the object, small and worn, and as she pulled it out, she realized it was a notebook. The cover was simple, a little faded, and when she turned it over, she saw her own name written in neat handwriting.