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.
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