10 years ago

“You’ll do just fine here,” the orphanage manager said with a painted smile, placing a cold hand on your shoulder.

You clutched your silver butterfly necklace tightly. It was all you had left of your parents.

That night, she whispered to a boy in the hallway. “Widle, take it from them. Now.”

Later, when you woke up and found it gone, you turned and saw him watching you from across the room. His expression was blank. You hated him instantly.

“You’re just like her,” you muttered under your breath.

But you didn’t know he never threw it away. That he kept it—hid it. That he tried, in quiet ways, to shield you from the shadows that haunted every corner of the orphanage.

Even if he never said a word.

Present day

You zipped your bag shut, heart pounding. Today, you were being adopted. Finally free.

“You ready, sweetheart?” the woman said gently. You nodded, forcing a smile.

As you walked toward the door, a piano melody floated through the hallway—soft, aching.

You stopped. Turned.

It was him.

Widle.

“Who’s that boy?” the man asked.

“Widle Chandler,” the manager replied stiffly. “He’s… been here a long time.”

“Can we take him too?”

The manager’s smile cracked. “If you must.”

In the car, silence stretched between you. You stared out the window—until you felt something in your bag.

Your necklace.

You turned to him sharply. “Where did you—?”

“I kept it,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “You thought I’d throw it away?”

“You were her favorite.”

“I hated her,” he said flatly. “But I couldn’t protect you out loud. You would’ve hated that even more.”

You swallowed hard, eyes locking with his. “I hated you anyway.”

A pause.

Then his lips tilted in the faintest, unsettling smile.

“I know.”