It was a quiet weekend, and Mizuki found herself at a loose end. The weight of her unstarted book pressed down on her, but it felt too soon to dive into it. She stared absently at the walls, feeling strangely aimless, until her phone buzzed. Eugene was inviting her to St. Anne.
Grateful for a change of pace, Mizuki agreed without hesitation. The supplies she had sponsored—stacks of textbooks, piles of clothes, crates of equipment—had finally arrived at the shelter. Eugene had asked her to come see how they were being distributed, and the day would also include a small gathering with snacks and games to lighten the mood.
The moment Mizuki stepped into the facility, the atmosphere hit her like a wave. Warmth and energy buzzed through the air, in stark contrast to the quiet of her home. The recent influx of wards—many of them from neighboring countries—had transformed the shelter into a lively space. Some had come voluntarily, seeking refuge from unstable situations, while others had been sent by the police, desperate for a safe place to stay. But what struck Mizuki most was St. Anne's welcoming nature. There were no questions asked, no hesitations. If someone sought help, they were accepted. Whether fleeing violence or seeking a fresh start, the staff worked tirelessly to assist them, ensuring they had the documents needed for a new life.
Mizuki had a few hours before her visit to St. Anne, so she decided to stop by Mustafa Centre, a 24-hour shopping mall nestled in Singapore's Little India. Unlike the luxury shopping malls under the Wolfe Group, which catered to an upscale clientele, Mustafa was perfect for her budget-friendly shopping. She didn't need anything extravagant—just something meaningful for the children at St. Anne, something that could brighten their days.
Her eyes landed on the toy section immediately. Rows of stuffed animals, books, and games beckoned her. Mizuki selected a few educational books, stories that would engage the children's imaginations and offer an escape, even if just for a while. She also picked up some toys, knowing these were often the last things the shelter could provide. The staff at St. Anne focused on the essentials—food, shelter, medical care—but toys? That was where the real help was needed. Mizuki's heart warmed at the thought of the children's faces lighting up with joy when they received these small gifts.
As she walked through the aisles, something caught her eye. There, among the plushies, was a stuffed pig dressed in a fluffy cat costume. Mizuki froze. It was exactly like the plushie she had bought for Rose, Little Peanut, in her past life. A wave of nostalgia hit her, and before she could stop herself, she reached for it. She knew she shouldn't be buying things for Lizbeth and her child just yet, but the plushie tugged at her heartstrings.
The pig was soft, endearing, with a mischievous little grin. It reminded her so much of the child she once failed to protect. But then, Mizuki stopped herself. She couldn't let this be another impulse purchase for the family she was still searching for. No, this one would stay in her car. She couldn't bring herself to give it away just yet, not when she was uncertain about everything. Instead, she tucked it away, hidden in the passenger seat until the right moment came.
Mizuki felt a weight lift from her shoulders after her quick shopping spree. She'd done something, no matter how small, to help. At the counter, she paid quickly, then headed for her car. The stuffed pig sat nestled in the passenger seat of her new Mini Cooper—a car she'd bought just a few days ago. She had always dreamed of owning one, and now it made her feel more mobile around Singapore, a nice change from the larger vehicles she was used to. As she drove, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of the stuffed pig. It was a small moment of joy—just for her.
When she arrived at St. Anne, she was warmly welcomed by Eugene and Cynthia, who greeted her with open arms. "Mizuki, we can't thank you enough for all of this," Eugene said, his smile wide with appreciation.
Mizuki smiled back, shaking her head. "No need to thank me," she replied softly, though her eyes glowed with warmth. "But there's a van outside with gifts for the children."
At the mention of the van, Eugene's face lit up. He quickly motioned for the staff to start unloading the toys and books. Mizuki stepped back, watching with quiet satisfaction as the items were carefully placed in the yard. The children playing outside stopped, their eyes widening in awe as the new items arrived. Toys, books, and stuffed animals—each one a gift, a little piece of joy for their day.
Mizuki's heart swelled as she watched the children's faces light up. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental in that moment. As the kids began to gather around, Eugene introduced her to the staff and wards who had gathered in the yard. The children, still a bit shy, approached hesitantly, their curiosity piqued by the new toys and books.
For the next hour, Mizuki moved through the crowd, handing out the toys and books. The children's faces beamed as they clutched their new stuffed animals, and the mothers smiled gratefully, their eyes soft with relief as they watched their children's happiness. There was an unspoken bond growing between Mizuki and the women, a quiet sense of support, of knowing they were seen, that someone cared, even in the smallest ways.
The afternoon felt like a warm embrace, filled with smiles and gentle laughter. Mizuki looked around at the faces of the women and children, feeling more connected to them than she had expected. It wasn't just about the toys or the books—it was about making them feel seen, valued, and loved.
As the last toy was handed out and the children returned to their games, Eugene and Cynthia caught Mizuki's eye and nodded toward the back of the yard, where a few of the older children had gathered around a table for an informal game. Eugene smiled. "Would you like to join us for a game?"
Mizuki hesitated for a moment. The thought of joining in seemed trivial compared to the weight of her ongoing search, but as she watched the children laugh and chatter, she realized it wasn't about grand gestures—it was about making moments count. She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Sure, I'd love to."
She joined them at the table, where the game was just beginning. As she settled into a seat, she noticed the children's excitement. They had quickly warmed to her, and their laughter filled the air, a sound she hadn't realized she'd missed. It was as if, for the first time in a long while, Mizuki felt like she was truly making a difference.
The simple act of playing with the children brought a sense of peace to her heart. The weight of her unstarted book, the constant pressure of the unknown, seemed to fade as the joy around her bubbled up. In this moment, she wasn't just a visitor at St. Anne. She was a part of something more—a small piece in a bigger picture.