Morning came fast. My body still hurt, but my chest felt... lighter.
I woke up before the others. I always do. It's easier when it's quiet. No shouting. No crying. No footsteps outside your door that make your stomach twist.
But today felt... different.
I looked over to her bed.
She was still sleeping, curled up beside her little sister, both breathing slow and safe.
She really saved the bread for me.
No one's ever done that.
She is different, and i don't know why i feel like protecting her, keeping her. Why? i never felt this.
I shook my head and went to the bathroom.
Later, we all sat waiting for breakfast, legs swinging, backs straight. No one talked. We never really did during food time. The ward didn't like noise.
I saw her then, sitting across from me. Her sister sat close, head leaning on her shoulder.
She looked at me—and smiled.
A small one. Quiet. But real.
I smiled back. Couldn't help it.
It was the kind of smile that made the bruises sting a little less.
Then they gave us breakfast.
Porridge. Again.
It looked like glue and smelled like feet. I was used to it by now. We all were.
No one said anything. We just picked up our spoons and ate.
But while I chewed, I kept sneaking glances at her.
She didn't talk. Didn't laugh. But she smiled when I looked.
Just a soft curve of her lips, like we had our own little secret.
Maybe we did.
We were just kids.
But in that moment, I felt like I had something no one could take from me—
A friend.
Breakfast ended too quickly. It always did.
Before I could even finish licking the last bit of porridge off my spoon, the ward barked at us.
"Stop eating! Grab your plates—move!"
The clang of metal echoed as we all stood up. No one complained. No one ever did.
I picked up my plate and got in line with the others, heading toward the sinks at the back.
She was right in front of me.
I could tell by the way her braids moved when she walked.
She turned slightly.
Smiled at me.
That same soft smile from earlier. The one that made everything else fade.
"Did you eat all of it?" she asked quietly, like she was scared someone might hear.
I nodded. "Yeah. I did."
"I'm glad," she whispered. "You looked happier this morning."
I blinked.
Happier?
Maybe I was.
When it was her turn, she scrubbed her plate clean, rinsed it, and handed it to the next kid without a word.
Then it was my turn. I washed mine quickly, hands moving out of habit.
We didn't say anything more, but I could still feel her presence. Right there. Like a light I wanted to stay close to.
After dishes, we were told to clean our beds.
Fold the blankets. Fix the sheets. Check for dust.
We worked quietly.
Then came the new clothes—scratchy uniforms we only got once a week. Mine was too short at the sleeves, but I didn't care.
She looked neat in hers. Tidy. Like she tried extra hard.
Her little sister clung to her sleeve, sleepy-eyed and quiet.
And I watched her from across the room, wondering how someone so small could carry so much strength.
The Park Behind the Walls
After chores, the ward gave us a rare command:
"Go rest in the park. Twenty minutes. No noise, no trouble."
We didn't question it.
We never questioned anything.
The park wasn't really a park—just a square of patchy grass, a few bent benches, and some wild flowers that clung to the ground like they were afraid to grow too tall.
But to us?
It was the only place that didn't smell like bleach and fear.
It was freedom.
I spotted her almost immediately.
She was crouched by the edge of the fence, tiny flowers between her fingers. Her sister was beside her, giggling as they plucked petals and braided them into little chains.
I walked over. Slowly.
Unsure if I was allowed to… join them.
But she looked up.
And smiled.
Like she'd been waiting for me.
Without a word, she reached out—and tucked a small yellow flower behind my ear.
I blinked.
And then…
I laughed.
A real laugh. Loud. Croaky.
The kind I didn't remember having in years.
The sound surprised even me.
She stared at me, wide-eyed.
Then I stopped. "Was that… bad?"
She shook her head quickly, eyes bright. "No. It was good. It's the first time I've heard it."
Then, softly, she added, "Keep laughing… you look more good like that."
My cheeks felt hot.
I didn't know what to say.
So I laughed again. Just because I could.
We spent the next ten minutes like that—me, her, and her little sister, placing flowers in each other's hair like we were royalty in some secret garden.
No one yelled.
No one cried.
No one bled.
Just laughter.
And sunlight.
And the feeling that maybe… maybe we weren't just surviving anymore.
As we were still laughing, all three of us with flowers tangled in our hair like crowns, when the sun shifted and something in my chest… twisted.
It came out of nowhere.
Like a ghost breathing on the back of my neck.
I was eight. It was summer. Warm, golden light soaked the garden behind the old orphanage building—when it still looked like a place someone could love.
She was there.
My older sister.
Her laugh was louder than mine, her smile always crooked. She had wild curls and scraped knees and a voice that always said, "Dante, race me!"
We were running barefoot on the grass, trying to catch butterflies that didn't want to be caught. She had a daisy tucked behind her ear.
She caught me, pushed me gently down, and started sticking flowers in my hair.
"Now you're the flower prince," she said. "You gotta protect the garden."
And I believed her. I really believed I could.
My chest burned.
It hurt.
Just… hurt.
She was gone.
And I hadn't thought about her in so long it felt like a betrayal.
"Dante?"
Her voice broke through the fog—her. The girl in front of me now.
She was staring at me, concern clear on her face.
"What happened?" she whispered.
I blinked fast, eyes stinging.
"Nothing," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Just… nothing."
Before she could ask again—
"Everyone inside!" the ward's voice boomed like thunder.
We all flinched.
The spell shattered.
I stood up fast, brushing my palms on my pants.
My hand twitched—wanting to reach out, to take hers again.
But I didn't.
I held back.
The memory still sat heavy in my chest like a stone.
And as we walked back toward the building, I realized something I didn't want to admit out loud—
I was scared of forgetting her again.
But I was even more scared of losing this, too.
But one thing was clear...once i'd get out i will take revenge of myself, sister and mom. I will.