AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Samirah sat on the couch and stared at Regina whenever the woman was in the room and not flitting back and forth between the living room and the kitchen checking on food that Samirah pretended she was in the mood to eat.

"I don't really like to talk about it," Regina said. "We're still waiting for the captivity born infant they promised us. I guess they're not having as many accidents now that the population is thinning out in the prisons." Regina sat down on the couch and frowned at Samirah. She shook her head. "I was sure we'd have one by now. You know Mark and Jennifer Owens?"

Samirah shook her head.

"No, I don't think I do," Samirah said.

"Mark worked at Region Thirty Three," Regina said. "With John. He was just a guard. They got a lovely little boy. Six or seven, I think. But they're still waiting for a baby too. I'm worried that with—with our age and with John just taking a temporary job with the government—well, I'm worried that if a baby becomes available they're going to give it directly to them and forget about us."

Samirah swallowed.

Before she would have wanted to offer words of comfort to the woman who had been something of a surrogate mother to her after the turn. She would have wanted to promise her that they'd get a child. Maybe she'd have even hoped that some prisoner, somewhere, would have an accident that would offer up a child for placement in their home.

But now she had so many faces for the prisoners. She had so many names for them. She had so many stories.

She couldn't hope that a single one of them suffered what they would likely suffer for such a thing to happen.

"If there's one available," Samirah said, "I'm sure—you'll get one."

Regina didn't look wholly pleased by Samirah's paltry offering of comfort, but Samirah had nothing more to give. Regina sighed.

"What about that project you're doing?" Regina asked.

"I'm not at—I'm not really at liberty to discuss the project," Samirah said. "You know that."

"I know that," Regina said. "I'm not asking for government secrets. Nothing more than what's already on the news. We know about the babies to be born there. Do you think there's a chance that—some of the mothers are too wild to tend to their babies? Do you think there's a chance that—we could get a baby from there?"

Samirah's stomach twisted.

"If any of the mothers are unable or unwilling to care for their children," Samirah said, practically reciting information that she'd read in a robotic tone, "then those children will be offered up for adoption to non-wild families who have put in requests with special consideration given to the families that have donated to fund the project."

Regina looked pleased with that information. She was entirely unaware that the women that she was thinking about were actual women. They were mothers. Right now they were waiting for their children to grow inside them—to actually become children. They were thinking about their futures. Many of them were staying awake at night asking if it was really possible that they had futures and that their children would have them as well.

Regina looked pleased because she was imagining that these women might turn "wild" and reject their own children.

Samirah loved Regina, but she was suddenly finding it very hard to like her.

"If they're going to do that," Regina said, "then I wish they'd let us tour the community, you know? I wouldn't mind getting a look at it. Seeing what it must be like with all of them living there."

"It's like any other small town," Regina said. "Or overgrown neighborhood. However you want to think about it. There's nothing out of the ordinary except the large amounts of guards."

"Necessary to keep that order," Regina offered.

"Not as much as you might think," Samirah responded.

"Still," Regina said, "it would be nice. Those of us who are hoping to adopt could—see the parents, you know? Put in requests for the children we'd prefer if they come available. Do you think—have you seen any that you thought would probably go that way?"

Samirah shook her head, ignoring the churning of her stomach. She feared she was going to have to come up with a reason to excuse herself. She was going to have to fake an emergency or send a message to Melodye or Alice to call her with some fake situation that had to be handled immediately. She couldn't stay and share a meal with the people that she'd once thought of as practically her parents—not the way she was feeling.

They weren't cruel. They weren't even unkind. Or, at least, Samirah had never known John and Regina Hokes to be either, but John's time working in the prison system had certainly colored their opinions of Wilds a certain way.

Or maybe they simply believed what most of the world believed.

"Edith," Samirah said. "How was she—how are things with her? Is she assimilating? I was hoping to see her."

Regina sucked in a breath and sighed. Her face fell from the momentary happiness she'd found in imagining herself hand-selecting the child she wanted from the breeding pair that she found most attractive within the community.

Regina shook her head.

"You can see her if you want," Regina said. "But—you'll have to go to her room to see her. That's where she is. It's where she always is."

"She's not assimilating well?" Samirah asked.

Samirah had remembered the girl, practically in the middle of the night, and she'd remembered that the child was a capture or a wild born.

"She's not assimilating at all," Regina said. "I know they say that you'll love your child even if you adopt but—Sam, she's a lost cause. We've only kept her this long because they said it helps our chances of getting a baby if one becomes available. She's going to have to go to a prison somewhere—or a prison community if your little project works out. She won't speak. She screams if we try to touch her. I just leave food for her and she uses the little bathroom connected to her room. It's honestly—we have a wild animal living in our home. And we're just about to the point of—calling them to come and get her. Even if it hurts our chances at a baby."

Samirah nodded her head and appeared to look as sympathetic as she could.

"Could I see her?" Samirah asked.

Regina waved her hand.

"You know the way to her room," Regina said. "I'd tell you to be careful, but I guess you're used to dealing with Wilds now."

Samirah nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm used to dealing with Wilds."

Samirah got up from the couch and walked to the girl's room. She tapped lightly at the door. There was no response, so she opened the door and let herself inside. It was dark in the room, so she immediately turned on the light. There was no sign of Edith.

"I know your name's not Edith," Samirah said. "I know—you have a name. A real name. You had a mother. A real mother. I'm here to help you. Could you come out? Talk to me?"

The closet door slowly creaked open and the girl called Edith peered out at Samirah.

Samirah smiled at her.

"Do you remember your real name?" Samirah asked.

Edith nodded.

"Can you tell me your real name?" Samirah asked. The girl didn't respond, but she didn't take her eyes off of Samirah either. Samirah wondered if Regina and John had even once tried talking to the girl or if they'd immediately tried to stuff her into their mold and then given up on her when she didn't immediately fit there.

They had no idea what she might have seen or experienced in her life.

Samirah reached in her pocket and pulled out the piece of paper she'd stayed up half the night preparing. She unfolded it and looked at the list.

"What if—I read your mother's name? Do you know your mother's name? Can you tell me if it's your mother's name?" Samirah asked. She didn't insist that Edith come out the closet. If she was more comfortable there, that's where she should stay. Maybe it felt safe there. Samirah sat on the edge of the bed. "Was her name Lila? Angela? Susan? Renee? Monique? Samantha? Linda? Joanne?"

Samirah ticked off the names one by one. She paused a moment after each name, but Edith was showing no response to the names. They were the names of every woman, documented in Milton's files, who had been captured with a wild born or wild captured child that would fit into Edith's age range. Samirah had carefully picked them out, one by one, for her list.

Edith's mother and the key to her true identity was here somewhere.

"Is your mother Carol?" Samirah asked.

Edith straightened up from her semi-crouched position.

Samirah swallowed.

Although she didn't believe that Wilds were actually wild, she'd seen enough to know that humans were unpredictable, especially those that felt threatened or afraid. Edith might feel all those things, and there was really no telling what the girl might be capable of. Samirah braced herself in case the change in position was less about recognizing the name and more about taking some kind of attack position.

"Carol?" Samirah repeated. "Was your mother Carol?"

Edith eased forward, stepping slightly out of the closet.

"Was that her name?" Samirah urged.

"Mama," Edith said softly, the voice escaping her sounding more like that of a small child than of an almost-woman.

Samirah nodded her head.

"Was your Mama's name Carol?" Samirah asked.

Edith nodded her head.

"Mama," she repeated. Immediately she covered her mouth with her hand and Samirah saw the pained expression that took over her facial features as the young woman dissolved into tears and dropped to her knees. She sucked in air for a moment, the air escaping as a cry that she muffled with her hand. "Mama!" She declared again. From what Samirah knew, it was possibly the first word the girl had said in years—and it seemed to be the most important to her.

Samirah got up from the bed and eased herself down on her knees to be at Edith's level. There was more than one Carol on her list. One of them was deceased, and Samirah found herself praying that the girl in front of her wasn't crying for that one. Samirah crawled her way over to Edith and reached an arm toward her. The girl jerked away from her, so Samirah stopped trying to touch her.

"Are you Anna?" Samirah asked. "Is your mother Carol and are you Anna?"

Edith shook her head at her, still crying though it wasn't coming out in gasps anymore.

"Mama..." she repeated.

Samirah nodded her head at her. She was torn between wanting to offer the girl a smile and feeling drawn to tears herself.

"Your Mama," Samirah said, willing her voice to be as soothing as was possible. "Are you Sophia? Is your mother Carol and are you...Sophia?"

Sophia nodded at Samirah and Samirah didn't have to work nearly as hard to force her smile as she had before.

"Hi," she said. "Hi, Sophia. I'm Sammi. And I've heard so much about you!"

"Mama," Sophia repeated, her voice coming out so soft it was barely a whisper. Samirah smiled to herself. Now that she knew it was true, she couldn't help but see Carol in Sophia's face. Samirah nodded her head. She reached out her hand. This time Sophia let her touch her. She let her stroke her back.

"I'm here to help you," Samirah said. "You're going to have to do what I ask you to do. You're going to have to cooperate with me and you're going to have to trust me. But, Sophia? I'm going to get you your name back. And I'm going to get you your Mama back, too. Can you work with me?"

Sophia nodded her head at Samirah.

"Where's my Mama?" Sophia asked.

"She's OK," Samirah assured her. "She's OK. And she's going to be so happy to see you."