Something inside me went completely still.
I glanced at Thomas. He was watching me, his expression unreadable—but I knew him well enough to see the question in his eyes.
That afternoon, we talked for hours. About our age. About whether it was selfish. About whether we were strong enough.
In the end, none of that mattered.
We couldn’t walk away.
When we visited the orphanage, the director led us to a small playroom. And there she was.
Lily.
She sat on the floor, carefully arranging wooden blocks in neat rows. She didn’t rush toward us. She didn’t smile. She just looked up—straight into my eyes.
In that instant, my heart broke open.
She had dark hair, serious eyes, and a small birthmark visible beneath her thin shirt strap. When I knelt in front of her, she studied my face as if trying to decide whether I was real.
