Back at the orphanage, Selena cut the first slice of cake with careful hands and knelt to offer it to the smallest child, a girl barely past four with tangled hair and wary eyes.
“For you,” Selena said gently.
The child hesitated, glancing toward the doorway as if expecting someone to rip it away. Only when Selena smiled—slow, patient, unthreatening—did she accept it, her fingers trembling as she took the plate.
Honey dripped down onto her wrist. She gasped softly, then laughed, a sound so bright it made several of the older children blink in surprise.
Selena took her own bite next.
The sweetness flooded her mouth—real honey, stolen berries, warmth instead of bitterness. For one fragile heartbeat, the world narrowed to that taste. No chains. No bruises. No fear breathing down her neck
