A woman named Mrs. Patterson greeted me at the front desk. She had kind eyes and the weary smile of someone who’d seen too many goodbyes.
“Feel free to look around,” she said gently. “Take your time. The children are in the common room.”
I walked slowly, my heart hammering. Kids were everywhere — building block towers, coloring at tables, and playing tag in small groups. Their laughter should’ve been carefree, but I could sense the weight they carried. Every smile hid a story.
Then I saw her.
A small girl sat alone by the window, curled into herself like she was trying to take up as little space as possible. She wore a knitted hat pulled low over her head, and her thin fingers wrapped around a popsicle.
She looked up, and our eyes met.
Hers were huge and brown, filled with a sadness that seemed far too old for her face. But when I smiled, she smiled back hesitantly.
I walked over and knelt beside her. “That’s really beautiful. What are you drawing?”
“A house,” she said softly.
“Is that your house?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s the one I want someday. With big windows so I can see the stars.”
My throat tightened. “That sounds perfect.”
She studied me for a moment. “What’s your name?”
“I’m…” I hesitated, then smiled. “You can call me whatever feels right.”
“I’m Lila,” she said.
Mrs. Patterson appeared beside me, her voice low. “She’s been with us about a year now. Bounced through a few foster homes before that. When her illness returned, the families… well, they couldn’t handle it.”
I looked at her sharply. “Her illness?”
Mrs. Patterson’s face softened with sympathy. “Leukemia. Diagnosed at five, went into remission, but it came back last spring. She’s stable right now, but she needs ongoing treatment. It’s a lot for most families to take on.”
I turned back to Lila, still coloring her imaginary house. She hummed quietly to herself, lost in her own little world.
“Do you think…” Lila’s voice was so small I almost missed it. “Do you think anyone would want me? Even if I get sick again?”
The question shattered something inside me.
I reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Sweetheart, I think someone already does.”
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