The next morning at nine, Theodore and I arrived at Happy Orphanage. No one had followed us on the way, and I felt a little relieved. It was a small, dark, and dilapidated orphanage. The children, generally malnourished, were all thin and frail. Their gazes, as they looked at us, resembled those of puppies and kittens in a shop window—filled with both fear and apprehension.
"I'm so sorry, but we don't have a child named Molly, nor a child named Mia," said Susie, the director, apologetically. Her hair was silver, and a large mole adorned her face. Despite her simple attire, she possessed a generous and gentle demeanor.
"How could that be? Isn't she here? She's five years old, with blonde hair and green eyes. She loves sweets." I pressed urgently, but Susie continued to shake her head.
"I
