"When I said I needed more spending money, three million dollars showed up in my account within half an hour."
Every word was a needle, piercing straight into my heart.
In that tiny, crumbling orphanage, all I could do was scratch pictures of a family of three into the dirt with pebbles.
All I could do was listen to piano music drifting over the wall from the church next door.
But I worked hard. I earned my own invitation to a prestigious school.
Ten years of working odd jobs while studying. My school uniform was the cleanest, nicest thing I owned.
The socks and sweaters Grandma Director knitted for me were my only source of warmth.
"I've been so blessed," Cynthia sighed contentedly. Then she turned to me, a smile playing on her lips. "What about you? Your parents must love you very much too, right?"
I saw the challenge glinting in her eyes.
I pressed my lips together and gripped the hem of my jacket.
"Cecilia Henson!"
After a few seconds of silence, Dad's voice cut through the snow. He was still wearing that old coat with holes in it, his hair a disheveled mess.
He walked straight toward me as if Cynthia didn't exist, draping his coat over my shoulders.
"Sweetheart, what are you doing out here in this cold?"
The guilt and tenderness in his eyes didn't look fake.
It only deepened my confusion.
Cynthia acted as though she hadn't noticed Dad at all. She sauntered toward the exit, but as she stepped down the stairs, she let out a sudden cry and pitched forward.
In less than a second, Dad threw himself across the ground, cushioning her fall with his own body.
"Thank you, sir. You must be a wonderful father!" Cynthia gushed with gratitude.
Dad beamed, his smile stretching from ear to ear.
The desperate longing for family that had burned in my heart, along with my last shred of doubt, scattered in the cold wind.
As my father approached again, I instinctively took half a step back.
He didn't notice anything wrong. He even smiled and said, "You see how kindhearted your dad is? How could I have possibly abandoned you just because you had oxygen deprivation at birth and were a little slow as a child?"
"It was the creditors—they were relentless. We were afraid you'd get hurt."
"Ah!" He sighed heavily.
Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.
But I no longer felt moved. Only silence remained.
He grabbed my hand.
Yet I couldn't feel the warmth and safety I remembered from childhood.