WHAT AM I TO YOU

The Doll in the Hallway

***The phone rang, cutting through the steady rhythm of the office. Saba reached for the receiver, her fingers pausing momentarily on its cool surface before lifting it to her ear. Her secretary's voice came through, calm yet expectant.

„Saba, telefon do ciebie z Anglii".

"Saba, there's a call for you from England."

She straightened in her chair, tightening her grip on the receiver.

„Przeprowadź to".

"Put it through."

A soft click. Then silence—just long enough for her chest to tighten slightly. And then, a voice. Familiar. Unmistakable.

"Hello. It's been a long time, Saba."

Her fingers curled slightly around the cord. A flicker of something—nostalgia, perhaps—passed through her, but she pushed it aside.

"Ah… yes, it has." She kept her tone steady. "I didn't expect you to call first."

A quiet chuckle, thoughtful and measured.

"I had to make up for lost time. But that's not the only reason I called—congratulations, Saba. Your association has been nominated as one of the best charities. Your work is finally getting the recognition it deserves. You earned this."

A pause.

"I can't wait to see you in England."

She exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Thank you… I never thought about it that way, but I'm glad to see our efforts making a difference. More than anything, I just hope this brings more support to the cause."

"It will," Matthew assured her. "And I'll be right there with you. Oh, and one more thing—are you ready for the interview? The press here, Live Your Magic News, is eager to hear your story."

She hesitated. Her story. For a moment, the weight of her past pressed against her ribs, an unspoken truth lingering just beneath the surface. Then, she let out a slow breath and allowed a hint of playfulness to slip into her voice.

"Let's see… I'll make it beautiful."

The call ended, but Saba didn't move. She remained seated, the receiver still resting in her palm, her thoughts lingering in the silence that followed.

"Of course, I'll tell my story… but not all of it. Not yet."

She rose and crossed the room to the window. The world outside stretched endlessly—a towering ancient oak stood tall, its gnarled branches whispering secrets to the wind. In the distance, laughter rang out, light and unburdened. Everything had a story to tell.

And so, she began hers.

***********The Doll in the Hallway

I remember it well…

I was standing there, in the isolated office at the end of the hallway. Evening had fallen, and the dim corridor lights cast faint shadows on the walls. I was a small, very thin girl, with reddish-brown hair and turquoise eyes that gleamed under the lights. My skin was pale, and a smile was drawn on my face—one that deceived no one, a forced smile I had learned to wear long ago. I was wearing a beautiful dress, perhaps the finest I had ever owned, and I swayed slightly in it. But my gaze remained fixed outside, on that ancient tree. I watched the squirrels as they moved freely between its branches, playing without restraint.

Meanwhile, I stood in the middle of the hallway, motionless, like a doll or a decorative piece. I had to look perfect for the visitors—perhaps one of them would decide to adopt me.

My feet ached from standing too long, but the instructions were clear: "Be silent, stand straight, be perfect."

Inside the office, a couple was arguing. I didn't understand all their words, but I knew they were discussing me.

The woman, firmly: "I really want this girl."

The man, objecting: "Are you insane? We should take a younger child. She's ten—no, nine… Impossible! How will we tame her? Haven't you heard? She has no lineage, truly. Raising and educating her will be a burden, and I'm not ready for such nonsense!"

The woman studied me with eyes that never seemed quite steady, then insisted: "Look at her—she's beautiful, isn't she? So quiet, like a little cat."

The man laughed mockingly: "And will you get rid of her if she bothers you, just as you do with cats?"

What they were saying didn't really matter to me, perhaps because I didn't want to care. But I watched the woman's expression—hesitant, uncertain. Even so, I hoped she would choose me, that the man would stop objecting.

At the corner of the hallway, Madame Magda, the orphanage director, was watching me closely. Every time she noticed the slightest slouch in my shoulders or a slight tilt of my head, she shot me a sharp look, ordering me to correct my posture immediately. It was exhausting… far too exhausting for a nine-year-old child.

The couple left the office when the man realized his wife wouldn't change her mind. She followed after him, shouting: "How dare you walk away from me?!" The situation was escalating.

As for me, all I wanted was to sit down for a moment. Madame Magda gave me a stern look before following them. Her eyes were filled with anger, and she muttered something under her breath—words I couldn't quite make out, but they sounded like curses. As if I were the cause of all this.

Outside, the woman's screams grew more hysterical with every passing second. The argument dragged on. Then… silence.

Time passed—a lot of time. But no one returned. I remained standing there, alone. I thought it wouldn't hurt to sit for a little while. I walked toward the window, sat down, and before I realized it, I had dozed off.

I woke up to a strange sensation… light tapping, then stronger, harsher. I opened my eyes to find myself on the floor, and Madame Mire was kicking me, screaming: "How dare you lie on the ground in these clothes, you filthy wretch?!"

I was still half-asleep, disoriented, until she grabbed my hair and yanked me up violently, forcing me to stand. I only then noticed that night had fallen.

Madame Mire began stripping me piece by piece, leaving me in only my underclothes—not as a punishment, but because she didn't want me to soil the dress. It was only meant to be worn when visitors came. Then she shoved me hard and spat: "Go on, you little fraud, to the hall where the others sleep!"

She stormed off, still muttering curses I didn't understand, while I walked slowly, heavily, toward the hall where the other girls slept.

I had always been slow—slow to walk, slow to respond, even my gaze moved sluggishly. It drove them mad—they saw it as defiance.

The hallway was long… far too long and dark. I wasn’t fully aware of what was happening—I was lost in a haze of exhaustion and sorrow.

Sorrow… my ever-present companion.

Suddenly, a sharp voice shattered the silence of the night:

"You fool! How shameful! Hurry up!"

I turned to see a boy around my age. I examined his features closely… Szymon. I had seen him before. He was always the first to wake up in the morning and the last to sleep at night. An eight-year-old boy who carried himself like a man, proud to be the so-called "protector" of this place. They called him "the Owl Child."

I ignored him and kept walking as if he weren’t there. Yes, that’s how I was… rarely reacting to anything.

When I finally reached the room,...........