Emma sat quietly in the leather chair in her private office, the afternoon sunlight gently streaming through the window and illuminating a small corner of her desk. In front of her, the computer screen displayed a long list of items, and beside it lay a notebook with a slender fountain pen resting across the page. Emma leaned forward slightly, her finger tapping lightly against her chin, her gaze absentmindedly fixed on the screen, though her thoughts seemed to have drifted far away. She lightly bit the tip of the pen, a habit she often had when she was deep in thought.
Sometimes, this peace made her feel as though she were standing between two worlds, a place where she could temporarily set aside the busyness of work and daily life to immerse herself in her own gentle, private emotions. At this moment, she was thinking about the children at Rose Orphanage, a place to which she had devoted part of her affection for many years.
