The heavy rain pelted the windows of Willowbridge Orphanage, a beautiful building that seemed to stand under the glowing sun in a small city. Inside the bright room, Mary Calloway sat near the window. She was fourteen, but something in her sharp brown eyes spoke of someone much older. She had learned early on that no one would fight for her. She sat on the rug, a book spread open on her lap.
"Hey, Freak." A boy named Peter swaggered over, his friends trailing behind him. "Still pretending to be smarter than everyone else with those stupid books?"
Mary didn't look up. She turned the soft pages with confidence.
"You're crazy." He said as he pushed her. She placed her book on the rug and slapped the boy, knocking him off balance. She never intended to hurt him, but how he taunted her made her angry, and she knew the door to Mr. Blackwood's office was closer.
The door to Mr. Blackwood's office slammed open, startling the owner of Willowbridge Orphanage from his paperwork. He adjusted his spectacles and looked up.
"What do we have here?" He asked. He closed his pen cap slowly, folding his hands on his desk. Madam Cherry pushed her forward. "This girl must be possessed! She slapped someone again."
Peter sniffled dramatically, throwing a pitiful look at Madam Cherry. "She just hit me for no reason." He said.
"Mary, you will be punished," Mr. Blackwood said and smiled. Peter and Madam Cherry left, a smile on his childish face as he glared at Mary.
When they left, Mary smiled. "Will I be punished?"
"No, Mary, we will go to the gardens." Mr. Blackwood smiled. She held his hands as they went through the back door.
As months turned to years, Mary became more close to Mr. Blackwood. He became the father she never had. Now eighteen, she sat beside him beneath an oak tree, his cane resting across his knees.
"Do you remember," he began, his voice soft but steady. "The first day as a teenager you told me to change my assistants."
She laughed holding his rough hands. "You explained all I needed to know even when Madam Cherry wanted to remove my eyes. You were the one who made me feel safe. Like this place isn't just a house, but a home."
He leaned back, his weathered face softening. "That was always my dream for Willowbridge. A home for those who needed one."
He reached out a trembling hand, and she took it gently in hers. His eyes, though tired, shone with pride. "You've got a spark in you that the world needs. Do not let anyone dim it." They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the rain tapped rhythmically against the large umbrella.
"Mr. Blackwood...when you're not here anymore, what will happen to the Orphanage?"
His face grew thoughtful. "I've made arrangements," He said after a pause. "Willowbridge will keep running. But..." He squeezed her hand lightly.
"What is it?"
"I hope you stay connected to this place. You've always been special here, Mary. A light for other children. I want your presence to remind them that they are loved."
"I will." Tears welled up in her eyes but she blinked them away. She has to be strong for him.
"When you're ready, my home is a welcome place to stay, as long as you want."
When he passed away the next morning, Mary felt the weight of his absence like a hollow ache in her chest. But she also felt his presence in every corner of the orphanage, in every laugh that echoed in its halls. From that day on, she could almost hear his voice, warm and reassuring. "I hope you stay connected to this place."
The soft hum of the fluorescent lights flickered in the hallway as Mary adjusted the strap of her crossbody bag. The orphanage had undergone a few upgrades. A new computer lab and a properly stocked library were incorporated. Kids' laughter echoed down the hall, blending with the faint smell of cinnamon rolls from the kitchen.
Now twenty-one, she peeked into the playroom. A group of kids were arguing over the rules of the games. She smiled, a warm, nostalgic feeling settling on her chest. It felt good to be back.
"Hey, girl?" A loud, teasing voice called out behind her. Taylor was her best friend and an unofficial chaotic manager. With her short, neon blue hair and leather jacket she refused to take off, she looked more like someone who belonged at a rock concert than in an Orphanage.
"Taylor, what are you doing?" Mary asked, stifling a laugh.
"I've been ambushed by a six-year-old with blue eyes. Aren't they adorable?"
"Get used to it, honey," Mary said, grabbing a cookie bite. "Mike gets along with them just fine." They walked down the kitchen, where the smell of cinnamon rolls got stronger. Mary glanced at Taylor who was scrolling down her phone.
"Any appointments?"
Taylor snorted. "You've got two dates."
"Not again."
"No. They are adults who are in love with your profile." Taylor stopped walking, turning to Mary. "Look at you! You've got brown eyes and wavy dark hair tumbling down your small waist. Every man's dream."
"I hope he isn't one of them."
"Who? The devil incarnate?"
Mary nudged her with her elbow. "He is Mr. Blackwood's son. You can't say that about him."
"There is something about that devilish looks."
"I'm sure he's as nice as his Father. I saw a dog on his profile recently."
"He's like a wolf in sheep's clothing, don't be deceived."
But she wasn't bothered. She silently hoped he would be as homely as his dad was.
Adrian blackwood strode to his sleek, glass-walled office, the sound of his polished leather shoes clicking against the marble floor. His jaw was set, his dark suit was perfectly tailored to his tall, built frame. He loosened his tie as he passed the secretary's desk, his mood as sharp as the storm brewing outside.
"Harry. " he barked, barely glancing at the young man typing furiously at his computer. Harry flinched slightly, but quickly straightened, adjusting his glasses and looking up at him.
"Yes, Mr. Blackwood?"
He stopped in front of his desk, leaning forward slightly, his piercing blue eyes fixed on him like someone who always got what he wanted, and usually at someone else expense.
"Did you call her?"
Harry blinked. "Call who, sir?"
He rolled his eyes, tapping his fingers on the edge of his desk impatiently. "The girl, moron. The one squatting in my Hanbok house like some charity handout."
"I'll try calling her again."
"No need," he said, his tone laced with arrogance. "I'll deal with her myself when I get back."
He turned toward his office, pausing at the door. "And Harry," he added without looking back. "Make sure the locks are changed the minute she's out. We don't want nuisance and strangers walking around my house."