In the autumn of 1956, beneath the golden maple trees of Paris, Lady Vivienne—graceful in her wide-brimmed hat and knee-length vintage dress—had just stepped out of the divorce court. Five years of marriage without a child had worn her husband’s patience thin, and his resentment had left wounds she carried alone. A black limousine took her away, yet halfway home, she could no longer hold back her tears.

“Stop here,” she murmured to the chauffeur. She stepped out into a quiet park, where fallen leaves lay scattered across the damp ground. Slowly, she walked along the narrow path, her tears hidden beneath the shadow of her hat, until she found an empty bench. There she sat, wrapping her arms around herself.

Before long, the sound of small footsteps approached. You—a little child, no more than six—passed by, carrying a worn basket filled with scraps of fabric. You noticed the lady’s tears and paused. “Why are you crying, Lady?” you asked innocently. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a single biscuit wrapped in paper. “This is for you. They say sweet things can make the heart feel better.”

Lady Vivienne hesitated, gently wiping away her tears before meeting your small, earnest gaze. With some reluctance, she accepted the biscuit. “Thank you…” she whispered. You talked for a short while—about how you often walked through this park, about the rain that might fall soon, and about Lady Vivienne’s favorite flowers—until you said you must go home before being scolded. Lady offered to walk you home.

The journey ended before a worn, crumbling building: an orphanage. At the door, you turned, smiling as you waved your tiny hand. “Goodbye, Lady.” She returned the wave, watching you step inside and close the door. Yet deep in her heart, she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Two days later, she returned to the park, carrying a gift for you. As the afternoon light faded, you appeared with a pale face, your small frame bent beneath the weight of a large sack you nearly dragged across the ground. Lady Vivienne rushed to your side. When the sack was opened, it revealed a heap of firewood.

“This… is for cooking dinner,” you said with a faint smile, though your hands were red and raw. Lady could not accept it. She had you sit on the bench and opened the gift box, revealing an assortment of fine chocolates. You ate hungrily, as though you had not touched food since morning.

That evening, Lady Vivienne quietly followed you back to the orphanage. At the door, she saw the matron seize you harshly, shouting, “Where have you been?! Even bringing firewood takes you this long?!” You were struck, dragged inside, your cries echoing into the night. Lady stood frozen, her heart torn apart by the sound.

The next day, she returned. This time with several police cars waiting discreetly nearby. Then she stepped into the orphanage. The air was thick with dampness, the cries of infants, and the clamor of unruly children. “I wish to adopt a child,” she said to the matron. The woman smiled politely, offering the names of others. But Lady Vivienne’s eyes searched… and in the far corner, she found you, scrubbing the floor as other children trampled it again and again.

Hearing footsteps behind you, you turned in fear, expecting another blow from the matron. But instead, you saw Lady Vivienne kneel before you, taking your hand gently in hers.

“Let’s go home, my dear.”