Among the children, I noticed a tiny, frail girl sitting all alone on the steps in the corner, watching the other kids play with a timid expression. She reminded me so much of myself as a child—wearing Richard’s old, worn-out clothes, feeling lonely and helpless.
The director told me that her entire family had perished in a fire. There were six people in the family, and she was the only one who survived, shielded by her parents. Her relatives saw her as a burden and had no choice but to send her to the orphanage.
Her name is Sophie, and she's just three years old. Her big, clear eyes were filled with confusion. I crouched down in front of her, extended my hand, and gently asked, “Sophie, would you like to come home with me?”
She hesitated, staring at my hand, clearly scared. But with the director's encouragement, she slowly placed her tiny hand in mine and softly said, “Auntie.”
At that moment, tears welled up in my eyes. It felt like I was looking back in time, as if someone was reaching out to my younger self. But there was no one back then. Now, I can be that person for her.