In a single flash, something clicked. I hurriedly switched off the surveillance feed and called one of the caretakers at St. Jude's.
Minutes later, she sent me the orphanage's records of past outings. On the log for the year I'd arrived, one entry stood out.
That June, the orphanage had organized a community outreach trip to the seaside marina. And listed among the participants, present the entire time with no absences, was Sarah Bennett. The date matched perfectly with the day my parents had died in the crash.
Every sound around me seemed to vanish. I sat there frozen, staring at the screen, my head filled with nothing but a long, high-pitched ringing. Only when a staff member knocked on the fitting room door did I finally come back to myself.
I forced a smile onto my face and stepped
