Chapter 95. Unknown Letter

DYLAN

Children of all ages ran here and there. The building still looked the same, only repainted with the same color: white. The absence of pigment. When I passed the fountain with St. Peter’s monument in there, I stopped and offered a prayer as a sign of respect. We were taught to do so in the orphanage. Old habits don’t die, they say.

I still remember the twists and turns of this place: the hallway that leads to the main office of the head mother, the compartment rooms for the orphans, the place where food is served and the playgrounds. Most of it all, I still recall the library and all the children’s books therein. It was where I mostly spent my time and triggered my love for school. You know what happened after that.

I found the head mother’s office and stopped. I took a deep breath. I know I haven’t given my formal goodbyes when I left.

Before I could raise my knuckles to knock, the door opened by itself. An aged woman dressed as a nun and a huge rosary