Chapter 150
Iris
The Ordan Central Orphanage looks smaller than I remember, or maybe I’ve just grown since I was last here. The once–vibrant
red bricks have faded to a dull rust color, and the front garden, which Headmistress Giulia used to maintain so meticulously, is now overgrown with weeds. Several of the windows have been patched with duct tape, and even the front steps are cracked.
“It’s… seen better days,” I murmur as we approach the entrance, Arthur carrying the box of toys while I balance the containers of
cookies in my arms.
“Is this where you grew up, Mommy?” Miles asks, looking up at the building.
“Yes, little wolf. From when I was a baby until I was eighteen.”
The front door creaks as we push it open, revealing a dimly lit lobby. One of the light fixtures is flickering. A few children peek curiously at us from a doorway leading to what I remember as the common room.
“Hello?” I call out. “Giulia? Are you
here?”
There’s a shuffling sound, and then an elderly woman emerges from an office to the right. Her silver hair is pulled back in a loose bun, wisps escaping to frame her deeply lined face. She squints at us through thick glasses, then her eyes widen in recognition.
“Iris?” she gasps. “Is that really you?”
“It’s me,” I reply softly as a lump forms in my throat. I set down the cookies and quickly cross the room to embrace her. She feels a lot frailer than I remember. Even more frail than Augustine, somehow.
“Let me look at you,” she says, holding me at arm’s length. “All grown up and so beautiful! And who is this handsome young
man?”
I gesture to Miles, who steps forward, shyly wringing his hands. “I’m Miles,” he says softly at a nod from me.
“He’s son,” I add, gently urging him forward. “Miles, this is Giulia. She took care of me when I was little.”
“And who is…?” Giulia’s voice trails off as she spots Arthur, her eyes widening further. “Alpha President! What an honor!”
Arthur smiles warmly as he sets down the box of toys. The kids in the doorway eye them curiously, and Miles as well. One little girl with pigtails and a polka dot dress waves at Miles and he blushes, hiding behind my legs, but I can tell he’s still watching her
cautiously.
“The honor is mine, ma’am,” Arthur says. “Iris has told me so many wonderful things about you.”
This is a lie–I’ve barely spoken about the orphanage to Arthur, and even when we were together, I didn’t talk much about my childhood but I appreciate the kindness in his words. Giulia practically glows under his attention.
“We brought cookies and toys,” I say, gesturing to our donations. “And we were hoping for a tour, if that’s alright. Miles wants to
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see where I grew up.”
“Of course, of course!” Giulia claps her hands together. “The children will be thrilled with the gifts. And a tour–well, things have
changed a bit since your time, Iris, but I’d be happy to show you around.”
As we follow Giulia through the orphanage, I’m struck by how much it has deteriorated. The wallpaper is peeling in places, and
there are water stains on some of the ceilings. The furniture is more worn than I remember, patched in places with duct tape. But
the children we pass seem happy enough, if a bit subdued.
“How many children are here now?” I ask as we climb the creaking stairs to the dormitories.
“Twenty–seven,” Giulia says with a sigh. “More than we can comfortably house, but what can I do? Turn them away?”
“It must be difficult,” Arthur comments, his gaze taking in a sagging section of ceiling.
Giulia shrugs. “We manage. Private donations are rare
e rare these days. Everyone wants to donate to the trendy causes–the arts, environmental charities. Orphans aren’t fashionable, even though our country faces more and more orphans every year due to rising populations.”
I feel a pang of guilt. I’ve been successful in my career, but it never occurred to me to send money back to the orphanage. I’ve been so focused on moving forward, on escaping my past, that I never thought about giving back.
“And here we are,” Giulia announces, pushing open a familiar door. “The girls‘ dormitory. Your old bed was right over there,
Iris.”
I step into the room and am immediately hit with a tidal wave of memories. The room holds six beds, each with a small trunk at the foot for personal belongings. The beds are neatly made, but the bedding is threadbare. My old bed is by the window, just as I remember.
“You didn’t have your own room, Mommy?” Miles asks.
