The day she first stepped into my life, the world seemed to pause. She was small, with tangled hair and eyes that carried more stories than any child should bear. Her grip on the battered pink backpack was tight, a silent declaration that she wouldn’t let go of what little she had left. The room was bright, but she kept her gaze low, tracing patterns on the floor with her worn sneakers.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I ventured, my voice softer than I expected. I wasn’t sure if I was speaking to soothe her or to steady myself. She flinched at the word, her expression unreadable, guarded.

In that moment, I knew this would be a journey—one that required more patience, warmth, and love than I had ever been asked to give. But as she finally met my eyes, just for a heartbeat, I felt hope. It was fragile, but it was there, and it was enough.