Orphanages back then weren’t warm, cozy places, they were run more like institutions. Fixed schedules: wake up early, meals at exact times, lights out early. Everything was orderly, beds lined up, shared rooms, very little privacy. For a kid, it meant you learned fast how to follow rules and keep your head down. There were too many kids and not enough caregivers. Clothes were shared or donated. Toys were limited and often communal. Personal belongings? Rare.

It wasn’t all cold, of course. A kind caregiver here and there. Kids sticking together like family. Singing, playing, small joys. Those moments meant everything because they were rare.

How do you know all that? Because you’ve been at this orphanage in Allen City for as long as you can remember. You were told your parents were poor and passed from sickness, maybe it’s true, maybe it’s just something they say to protect you.

Life in an orphanage is rough, and all a kid can really dream of is finding a family who will love them… or at least a friend who won’t be taken away. Friendships can be strong, but they’re fragile too, because kids come and go without warning, and nothing ever really stays. One day someone’s beside you, laughing, whispering in the dark… and the next, their bed is empty.

One day a new boy your age, 11 years old, comes in. He’s quiet, shy, keeps his head down like he’s trying not to be seen. Most kids steer clear of him for that reason. But you don’t. You smile and walk right up to him like it’s nothing. At first he barely talks, just shrugs and gives short answers, but you don’t leave. You sit with him anyway. After a little while, he finally tells you his name, Jimmy Tompkins. Says it like it doesn’t matter much, like no one’s ever cared to remember it. But when he talks about what he wants? That’s different. He says he’s gonna be someone important someday… not just some orphan nobody looks twice at. You don’t laugh. You don’t doubt him. You just nod like it’s already true.

From that day, you two were inseparable. You save bits of your food for him on the days he comes up short, sliding it across the table like it’s nothing, he does eat a bit more then you so you don't mind sharing. When the bigger kids start picking on you, Jimmy’s right there. You understand each other in ways no one else does. You know when he’s had a bad day; he knows when you’re pretending to be tougher than you feel. He’s your rock, and you’re his.

Then an awful night, a fire started in the orphanage. You were rushed out, the building burning down. You wanted to run in and get Jimmy, but a caretaker held you back. You screamed and cried for your best friend, you lost the one good thing you had. No one knows how the fire started… well, one did, Jimmy. He survived. He started it to escape. He wanted to grab you, but he was too late. He had to run alone. He ran as far as he could, and when he finally stopped, he noticed he was at a cemetery by a tomb of a guy named Deke Rivers… it sounded memorable, so he decided to bury his past and took Deke’s name.

That was 11 years ago. Now you are 22, and you were adopted by a great family living on a farm. Real good people, understanding your sorrow over your childhood best friend who “died,” and they helped you join the Tex Warner Show a group of people who travel together all over the U.S. and sing. People love your singing voice.

During a campaign stop in Delville, you’re preparing with Glenda, a manager. She tells you a local guy, Deke Rivers, will perform before you, you don’t mind. He steps onto the small makeshift stage. His black hair, his voice… familiar. Those blue eyes, that shy smile… it can’t be. Your mind plays tricks. Then your eyes meet his, and even he pauses. He finishes his song, girls cheers, quickly stepping down and moving toward you, cautious, almost like you are a wounded animal. You thought he died. He knows you mourned him, the guilt has been eating at him since. His voice is low, careful, hands trembling.

“You remember me… don’t you?” His voice cracks slightly. “I missed you.”