I'm so used to dealing with inmates in prison and the effects that lifestyle has on them, but I'm glaringly inexperienced in the inverse. Of course, I never expected Camila to adjust perfectly to life outside her cell—a sudden, drastic change can be upsetting for even the healthiest of minds—but I feel helpless when I hear her sniffles at night, only for her to claim that she's okay the next morning. The tears which well in her eyes in frustration at the smallest things, like not knowing how to use my oven, serve as further evidence to the contrary.

I sigh softly as I find her staring out of the window once more, a habit she picked up almost immediately after I brought her home. Her eyes search the streets below, though I'm yet to understand what it is she's looking for. Ensuring that I don't sneak up on her, I slip my hand into hers, looking out the window with her. The sky is overcast, causing her eyes to seem cloudy and distant with its greyish reflection. She doesn't look over to me, even when I squeeze her hand and lean over to press a kiss to her shoulder.

She's wearing my clothes, as we haven't gone out to buy her any yet. While I love watching her saunter around in my old band t-shirts and skinny jeans, I think it might help her feel more at home if she has her own. Yesterday, she'd seemed a little better, a little happier, so I thought we could go this afternoon. Something must have happened last night, though, because she hasn't said a word yet today.

Slowly, she turns to face me. There's an odd look in her eyes, something extremely uncertain, yet knowing, too.

"Hartley got fired." I share the news I'd received this morning, hoping it might cheer her up to know that the god-awful woman won't be tormenting anyone else.

Instead, her eyes widen ever so slightly, brows tipping up in a way that is so subtle, I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't memorised her face. She turns back to the streets, sighing silently.

"Hey," I say softly, letting go of her hand to wrap my arm around her shoulders. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours, hmm?"

Her cheeks and ears tint pink, and she reaches up to move some of her hair, still damp from her bath last night, around from behind her ear to hide her face. I press my lips against her warm temple.

Something small taps against my back, and I turn to see Sofi standing behind me, her lip pulled between her teeth, just like her sister does. I smile softly, letting go of Camila to face her fully. I think this is the first time she's sought out my attention, always opting to instead whisper her requests to Camila, who then relays the message to me.

"I'm hungry," she murmurs, taking my hand and pulling me into the kitchen on the other side of the room.

I chuckle as I let her lead the way, watching as she hops up onto the counter. I open my mouth to ask what she'd like to eat, but she quickly shushes me, looking over her shoulder at the silhouette of her sister. Silently, she beckons me closer until she can whisper directly into my ear.

"Is it true?"

I frown slightly, leaning back to regard her face only to be pulled closer again.

"Is it true that Kaki killed Mami and Papi?"

I bite my lip, unsure of how to respond. I worry that if I lie, Camila will feel hurt that I felt the need to disguise her doings, while I've no idea if she wants Sofi to know the truth.

Sofi herself clarifies this by continuing, "She told me last night, but is it true?"

Finally, I nod. "Yeah. Yeah, it is, but she—"

"She saved us." There's some sort of awe in Sofi's voice. After a moment, she gently pushes me back. "Cereal, please."

I glance at the clock on the oven. "It's lunchtime. Don't you want something more?"

She shakes her head, pointing to the cupboard in which I keep the Cheerios. "Cereal, please," She repeats, jumping back down and heading to the fridge. I shrug, retrieving the box and three bowls as she places the jug of milk on the counter.

At some point during the making of the cereal, Camila must turn to watch us, as she's waiting near the sofa when we're finished. She takes her bowl from my hand, waiting for Sofi and me to both sit down before she worms her way between us, leaning into my side as she eats. Her silence is accompanied by ours as the quiet sounds pouring through the TV hold our attention, Sofi having put another Disney movie on.

When I'm done, the Cabello sisters still have much of their food left, so I place my bowl on the table and fill the new space in my lap with Camila's free hand, gently running my thumbs over her knuckles. She sighs softly, taking a reluctant bite of cereal and laying her head on my shoulder as she chews.

"I was thinking we could go shopping today," I suggest, though I'm sure she'll refuse. As expected, she doesn't say a word, but I continue, "There's a mall not too far away. We can get you some new clothes and basic essentials."

She tenses and lifts her head, swirling her spoon in her bowl. I turn my attention back onto the movie, not expecting any more of a response. I don't pay her much mind when she places the still-half-full bowl of cereal on the coffee table. A few minutes pass before she shocks me with her soft voice. "Can we go here instead?"

I frown, looking over at her to find that she'd pulled my phone from the table and was showing me the screen. It depicts a nearby thrift store. From the photos, it seems mid-sized, almost like a small department store. I'm sure we'll find at least some pieces that she'll like, and I know the importance of her making her own decisions about what to do and where to go now that she has her freedom, so I nod, grinning.

"I missed you," I whisper, causing a slight tug at the corner of her lip. She blushes again, and I learn it's contagious when she leans over to kiss the corner of my jaw. "I'll go get ready, then, okay?"

She nods, and I head to the bathroom to freshen up.

...

"You have reached your destination."

As I pull into the parking spot directly opposite the store, I peer through my window at it. I noticed on the drive out here that it's a little out of the way of the much busier downtown stores, and is on the opposite end of the city from her house. I wonder if she'd made sure of that on purpose, pairing it with the way she seemed on high alert until we made it out of the city. While I'm still not entirely sure of the behaviour's cause, I don't push for an answer. She might've been my patient, but now she's more. I'm not sure what, exactly, but I don't want to make her feel strange if I continue to play the role of Doctor.

"It's so pretty!" Sofi exclaims, already unbuckling her seatbelt as she peers up at the light-blue building. We're a little closer to the coast, so the street has a more creole-influenced style of architecture. Even Camila seems to be wonderstruck by the buildings as she looks up through her window.

I smile, turning off the engine and climbing from the car. I have time to circle it before Camila even makes a move to leave, so I open Sofi's door and hers, frowning when she stays staring down at her lap.

"What's wrong, Hermosa?" I question, watching as she takes a deep breath before looking up at me.

"I'm okay." She smiles, taking my hand as I help her from the car. She keeps ahold of it as we cross the street into the thrift store, and the search begins.

"What kind of stuff do you like?" I question, surveying a rack of button-up shirts.

I glance to Camila, who's rummaging through a large box of what appear to be misfits. She pulls out a pleated tartan skirt, holds it against her waist, and looks up at me with a shrug. She's only been out for a few days and has only worn shorts once in that time, though that was enough to have my mouth watering at the sight of her long, tanned legs. Somehow, even as she's shorter than me, they seem to go on for miles with lean muscles glimmering under the curvy skin when she moves.

"Lo," she laughs airily, tossing the skirt at me to force me back into the present. I manage to catch the fabric and slip it into the basket hanging from my elbow. Camila smirks and returns to the box. "I haven't had the chance to even think about fashion since I was 18. I don't know if I've changed." She explains, referring to the previous question that I have to focus on to remember.

"Well, now's your chance to experiment, then." I pull a floral shirt from the rack and hold it out for her to see. She scrunches her nose, and I put it back, continuing to make me way along the row. I jump when she hums, low and loud as she's close behind me.

"True," she chirps, lowering her voice as she continues, "Or maybe I'll stick to crop tops and schoolgirl skirts."

"I wouldn't complain," I shrug nonchalantly, trying my best to keep my cool.

She snorts, stepping back and disappearing into the back of the store. I stifle a smile, moving onto the next stand. I yelp when Sofi once again taps my back for attention, pressing a hand to my chest to calm my racing heart.

"Um, can, uh..." she stammers, looking down at her clenched fist. My brows furrow, and I bend slightly to be more at her level though, admittedly, she isn't too far off my height. She quickly releases her grip, revealing a necklace bunched in her palm. She speaks quickly, almost as if rushing to get her words out in one breath, and quietly. "Can I get this for Kaki's birthday?"

My eyebrows shoot halfway up my forehead, though I quickly swallow to gather myself. I nod to her request and ask, "When's her birthday?"

"3/3." Sofi smiles, bouncing on her feet. "It's ten bucks, is that okay?"

I smile, nodding again, and reach into my purse for the cash, handing it to her.

"Thanks, Lauren!" She almost squeals, hurrying over to the lady at the front of the store with a suppressed bounce in her step.

'3/3', I figure, is the 3rd of March, which is only a couple of weeks away from now. I wonder briefly why Camila didn't tell me it was coming up, then consider looking for a present while I'm here before another idea comes to mind. Grinning to myself, I store the idea in the back of my mind and turn back to the task at hand: finding her a new wardrobe.

"Lo!" Camila calls from the other end of the store. I look up to find her smiling broadly, a terrible pink wig perched precariously on her head, and a matching housekeeping dress held against her body. I laugh, shaking my head as she poses with a hand on her hip.