Rain hammered the windshield, and lightning split the sky in sudden white cracks. His headlights caught puddles on the road, turning them into silver mirrors. The radio hissed with static because the storm was swallowing the signal. Richard’s hands stayed firm on the wheel, but his chest felt too full.
The streets blurred—then the sign appeared through the rain like it had been waiting for him:
ST. MARY’S ORPHANAGE
He slowed without meaning to. The building stood old and sturdy, brick darkened by decades, a cross mounted above the front doors. Warm yellow light glowed behind tall windows. Everything about it looked like a place where someone was trying to keep hope alive.
Richard pulled into the lot and shut off the engine.
