The rain fell in a soft, steady rhythm, blurring the world outside the cracked windshield as if the sky itself mourned with her. The wipers squeaked against the glass, fighting a losing battle. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles pale against the dark interior of the car. Her shoulders trembled, her breath shallow and controlled—each inhale a silent battle against the storm within.
She stole a glance at the rearview mirror.
In the backseat, three-year-old Calvin slept with his head tilted gently to the side, his tiny frame rising and falling with fragile breaths. His small hands twitched now and then, lost in dreams. Beside him, six-year-old Anna sat quietly, wide-eyed, clutching a worn teddy bear against her chest. She hadn't spoken in over an hour. Her lips were pursed, her gaze fixed on the rain trailing down her window like tears.
The orphanage stood ahead, quiet and cold, a lifeless building shrouded in mist. The rusted gate loomed like a mouth waiting to swallow them whole. It was a place no child should ever see, let alone call home. But she had run out of time—and options.
The mother pulled the car to a halt. Her fingers remained wrapped around the wheel. For a long moment, she just sat there, listening to the steady thump of her heartbeat and the ticking of the cooling engine. A sharp pain bloomed in her chest—not from the cancer eating away at her, but from something deeper, something that shattered the soul.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
She turned around slowly. "Anna, baby," she said, her voice hoarse.
Anna looked up, her eyes shining with unspoken questions. "Are we there?"
She nodded. "Yes. Just for a little while, okay?"
Anna didn't answer. She clung tighter to her bear, its fur worn and patched. "Why here?" she finally asked.
The mother tried to smile, but it faltered. "Because… Mommy's sick. Remember how we talked about my tired days?"
"You said you'd get better."
"I hoped I would." Her throat tightened. "But it's gotten worse, honey. My body's not listening to me anymore. I don't want to go to the hospital and leave you alone, so I… I had to find somewhere for you and Calvin. Somewhere safe."
Anna's eyes welled up. "I can help take care of you. I promise."
"Oh, sweetheart." She reached back and cupped Anna's cheek. "You already have. You've been the bravest little girl in the world. But now it's my turn to take care of you in a different way."
Tears slipped down Anna's cheeks, mingling with the rain that had begun to leak through the crack in the window. "Will you come back for us?"
The mother didn't speak. Couldn't. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed Anna's forehead, letting her silence say what her lips couldn't.
She stepped out of the car and opened the back door, lifting Calvin into her arms with a softness that belied the agony in her chest. He stirred but didn't wake. She adjusted the blanket around his thin shoulders and motioned for Anna to follow.
Anna stepped into the rain, shivering. Her shoes squished in the puddles as she stood beside her mother, looking up at the looming building ahead.
"Stay close," the mother said gently, her voice almost lost in the storm.
They walked up the short, cracked path leading to the front door. Every step felt like an act of betrayal. When they reached it, she rang the bell with a trembling hand. Somewhere deep inside, a chime echoed. A few seconds later, the door creaked open.
A tall woman in a gray cardigan appeared, her face expressionless. "You're the ones who called yesterday?"
The mother nodded. "Yes. This is Anna, and this is Calvin. He's… he's not well. He has a heart condition. All their medical records are in the bag." She handed it over with shaking hands.
The woman looked the children over without much emotion. "We'll take them in. You've filled out the paperwork?"
"Yes." Her voice cracked. "It's all there."
Anna glanced between them, her expression growing more anxious by the second. "Mommy?"
The mother crouched down again, setting Calvin gently into the woman's arms before reaching for Anna.
"Hey," she said, brushing a strand of wet hair from her daughter's face. "I need you to be strong now, okay?"
"I don't want to go in there." Anna's voice broke.
"I know. It's scary. But I need you to protect Calvin. He needs his big sister. Can you do that for me?"
Anna's bottom lip trembled. She nodded, barely.
The mother leaned in and whispered in her ear, "No matter what, I'll always be with you. In here." She pressed a hand to Anna's chest. "Every beat of your heart, that's me loving you."
Anna sobbed, burying her face in her mother's neck. "Please don't go…"
"I have to, baby." She kissed her forehead once more, then stood quickly, as if lingering would shatter her resolve.
She turned to Calvin, still asleep in the woman's arms, and kissed his cheek gently. "Be strong, little one. Dream sweet things."
Then, with all the strength she had left, she turned away.
The children were led inside. The door closed with a soft click. The sound echoed through the rainy silence like the end of a song.
She walked down the path slowly, every step heavier than the last, the weight of her love anchoring her to the earth. She didn't look back—she couldn't. Her tears mixed with the rain, and soon her figure disappeared into the mist, swallowed by a world that no longer held her children.
But even as she vanished, a piece of her remained—etched into every memory, every whisper, every heartbeat they would carry for the rest of their lives.