Chapter 84

Iris

The Ordan Central Orphanage looks smaller than I remember, or maybe I’ve just grown since I was last here. The once-vibrant red bricks have faded to a dull rust color, and the front garden, which Headmistress Giulia used to maintain so meticulously, is now overgrown with weeds. Several of the windows have been patched with duct tape, and even the front steps are cracked.

“It’s… seen better days,” I murmur as we approach the entrance, Arthur carrying the box of toys while I balance the containers of cookies in my arms.

“Is this where you grew up, Mommy?” Miles asks, looking up at the building.

“Yes, little wolf. From when I was a baby until I was eighteen.”

The front door creaks as we push it open, revealing a dimly lit lobby. One of the light fixtures is flickering. A few children peek curiously at us from a doorway leading to what I remember as the common room.

“Hello?” I call out. “Giulia? Are you here?”

There’s a shuffling sound, and then an elderly woman emerges from an office to the right. Her silver hair is pulled back in a loose bun, wisps escaping to frame her deeply lined face. She squints at us through thick glasses, then her eyes widen in recognition.

“Iris?” she gasps. “Is that really you?”

“It’s me,” I reply softly as a lump forms in my throat. I set down the cookies and quickly cross the room to embrace her. She feels a lot frailer than I remember. Even more frail than Augustine, somehow.

“Let me look at you,” she says, holding me at arm’s length. “All grown up and so beautiful! And who is this handsome young man?”

I gesture to Miles, who steps forward, shyly wringing his hands. “I’m Miles,” he says softly at a nod from me.

“He’s son,” I add, gently urging him forward. “Miles, this is Giulia. She took care of me when I was little.”

“And who is…?” Giulia’s voice trails off as she spots Arthur, her eyes widening further. “Alpha President! What an honor!”

Arthur smiles warmly as he sets down the box of toys. The kids in the doorway eye them curiously, and Miles as well. One little girl with pigtails and a polka dot dress waves at Miles and he blushes, hiding behind my legs, but I can tell he’s still watching her cautiously.

“The honor is mine, ma’am,” Arthur says. “Iris has told me so many wonderful things about you.”

This is a lie—I’ve barely spoken about the orphanage to Arthur, and even when we were together, I didn’t talk much about my childhood—but I appreciate the kindness in his words. Giulia practically glows under his attention.

“We brought cookies and toys,” I say, gesturing to our donations. “And we were hoping for a tour, if that’s alright. Miles wants to see where I grew up.”

“Of course, of course!” Giulia claps her hands together. “The children will be thrilled with the gifts. And a tour—well, things have changed a bit since your time, Iris, but I’d be happy to show you around.”

As we follow Giulia through the orphanage, I’m struck by how much it has deteriorated. The wallpaper is peeling in places, and there are water stains on some of the ceilings. The furniture is more worn than I remember, patched in places with duct tape. But the children we pass seem happy enough, if a bit subdued.

“How many children are here now?” I ask as we climb the creaking stairs to the dormitories.

“Twenty-seven,” Giulia says with a sigh. “More than we can comfortably house, but what can I do? Turn them away?”

“It must be difficult,” Arthur comments, his gaze taking in a sagging section of ceiling.

Giulia shrugs. “We manage. Private donations are rare these days. Everyone wants to donate to the trendy causes—the arts, environmental charities. Orphans aren’t fashionable, even though our country faces more and more orphans every year due to rising populations.”

I feel a pang of guilt. I’ve been successful in my career, but it never occurred to me to send money back to the orphanage. I’ve been so focused on moving forward, on escaping my past, that I never thought about giving back.

“And here we are,” Giulia announces, pushing open a familiar door. “The girls’ dormitory. Your old bed was right over there, Iris.”

I step into the room and am immediately hit with a tidal wave of memories. The room holds six beds, each with a small trunk at the foot for personal belongings. The beds are neatly made, but the bedding is threadbare. My old bed is by the window, just as I remember.

“You didn’t have your own room, Mommy?” Miles asks.

I shake my head. “I shared this room with five other girls. We didn’t have much privacy, but we became like sisters.”

“Do you still keep in touch with any of them?” Arthur asks.

“No. We all scattered after aging out. Different cities, different lives.” I run my hand along the windowsill, noticing a small carving in the wood—my initials, scratched there with a stolen pencil one lonely night. I trace the letters with my fingertip and try not to notice the lump forming in my throat.

After that, we continue the tour, moving from the dormitories to the dining hall, the small library, and finally back to the lobby. Throughout, Arthur asks thoughtful questions about the orphanage’s history and current needs. He notices things I miss—a leak in the bathroom ceiling, a crack in the foundation, a window that isn’t storm-proof.

“This place needs quite a bit of work,” he comments to Giulia as we stand in the lobby.

She sighs, nodding. “The building is nearly a century old. We patch what we can, but I’m no handyman, and hiring professionals is beyond our budget these days.”

Arthur frowns, surveying the space. “Some of these issues could become serious if they’re not addressed. That leak in the bathroom, for instance—that’s going to cause structural damage eventually.”

“I’m well aware,” Giulia says ruefully. “But what can I do?”

“I could help,” Arthur offers, surprising me. “I’m fairly handy with basic repairs. I could fix the leak, seal that window, maybe shore up those loose railings on the stairs. It’ll be easier than hiring a team of people in the meantime, although I’d like to personally write you a check to get the more problematic work done professionally.”

Giulia blinks at him in astonishment. “You? The Alpha President? Doing plumbing repairs at an orphanage?”

I stare at Arthur, equally surprised. This is a side of him I’ve rarely seen—the down-to-earth, roll-up-your-sleeves man beneath the polished political exterior. It reminds me of the Arthur I fell in love with, before power and politics took precedence.

“What happened to the wall?” Miles asks suddenly, pointing to a large blank space on the lobby wall. There’s no paint, just drywall, like it was quickly thrown up.

Giulia turns to look where he’s pointing. “Ah, that. We used to have a beautiful mural there—handprints of all the children who passed through these doors. Including your mother’s.” She sighs. “But we had a pipe burst a few years back. The water damage was extensive. We had to replace the drywall.”

“All those handprints, gone?” I ask, dismayed. I remember adding mine when I was about six, pressing my paint-covered hand to the wall with such seriousness, as if I were leaving my mark on the world.

“I’m afraid so,” Giulia says with a nod. “We’ve been meaning to start a new one, but…” She gestures vaguely, and I understand. With so many pressing practical concerns, a decorative mural falls to the bottom of the priority list.

“Mommy can paint a new one!” Miles exclaims suddenly. “She’s an artist!”

Giulia brightens. “Are you? I remember you were always drawing as a child. You’ve made a career of it?”

I nod, a bit embarrassed by the attention. “Yes, I’m a painter. I actually just received a residency at the Abbott Gallery.”

“How wonderful!” Giulia beams at me. “Oh, I always knew you’d do something creative. You used to draw such beautiful pictures, even with those stubby orphanage crayons.”

“You should paint a new mural, Mommy,” Miles insists.

The idea immediately takes root in my mind. A new mural, not just replacing what was lost, but creating something new and hopeful. Something colorful and festive.

“I could,” I say slowly. “If you’d like that, Giulia. Free of charge, of course.”

Giulia’s eyes fill with tears. “You would do that? Oh, Iris, that would be wonderful. The children would be so excited.”

“You could start tomorrow,” Arthur suggests, glancing at me. “While I’m working on the repairs.”

I look at him, surprised again. “You’re really coming back tomorrow to fix things?”

He nods. “First thing in the morning. I’ve already cleared my schedule.”

“The Alpha President, fixing our plumbing,” Giulia marvels. “No one will believe me.”

I study Arthur’s face, looking for signs of insincerity, for the political calculation that must be behind this gesture. But I see none there, and as much as I hate to admit it, it softens me.

“So it’s settled,” Giulia says. “You’ll both come tomorrow.”

“First thing,” Arthur replies with a smile. “Iris, I’ll pick you up first thing.”