The first morning at the orphanage hit like a slap.
Anna blinked awake to the screech of metal beds dragging across the floor and the distant sound of someone crying. Cold air bit at her bare arms. The thin blanket wrapped around her did little to shield her from the draft that snuck through the cracked window above. The room smelled like mold and old sweat, the kind of stench that clung to skin and soul.
Calvin stirred beside her, his small frame trembling. He rubbed his eyes, his voice barely audible.
"Anna... where's Mama?"
Anna's heart twisted. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. She pulled him closer, pressing his head against her shoulder.
"She… she had to go," she whispered, her voice cracking. "But I'm here, okay? I'll take care of you."
Before Calvin could say more, the heavy door slammed open with a metallic clang that made Anna flinch. A tall, bony woman strode into the room. Her graying hair was pulled into a severe bun, and her sharp eyes scanned the room like a hawk looking for prey. She wore a stained apron over a dull gray dress, and her face held no trace of kindness.
"You two—up. Now."
Anna sat up quickly, her arms still wrapped protectively around her brother. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice steady despite the fear curling in her stomach.
"I'm Nanny Elga. You'll speak only when spoken to. You want to eat today? Then earn it." She tossed a filthy rag at Anna's feet. "You clean the toilets. The boy—he can sweep the hallway."
Anna blinked, shocked. "But he's sick," she protested. "He has a heart condition. He can't—"
A loud crack echoed through the room as Elga's hand connected with Anna's cheek. She staggered backward, a burning pain blooming across her face. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.
"No excuses," Elga snapped. "If he can't work, he doesn't eat. Maybe next time you'll learn to shut your mouth."
Anna clutched her face, her breathing ragged. Calvin stared up at the woman with wide, terrified eyes, his small body trembling.
"I'm hungry," he whispered.
Elga narrowed her eyes at him. "Then sweep faster."
She turned on her heel and stomped out, leaving the door wide open.
Anna swallowed hard, then knelt beside her brother. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, gently touching his hair. "Just… just do a little sweeping, okay? I'll find a way to help you."
Calvin nodded slowly, too scared to speak.
Later that day, Anna knelt on the cold tile floor, scrubbing a toilet so filthy she couldn't tell where the rust ended and the grime began. Her hands were raw and red, and the air stung her nose. Beside her, another girl worked silently. She was thin, her face pale and her dark hair tied in a messy braid.
"Is it always like this?" Anna asked under her breath.
The girl didn't look up. "Worse, sometimes. If they catch you talking, you'll lose your food."
"What if we don't work?" Anna whispered.
The girl paused, her eyes flicking toward Anna for just a second. "Then you starve. Or get the belt."
Anna fell silent. The girl returned to her scrubbing like a machine, her face void of emotion.
"What's your name?" Anna tried again, softly.
"Mira," the girl muttered, glancing at the open doorway. "Don't talk too much. Elga has ears everywhere."
Anna nodded, then resumed scrubbing.
Every minute felt like an hour. The walls seemed to close in tighter the longer she stayed on her knees. Her arms ached, her knees throbbed, and her heart ached worse than both. Somewhere down the hall, she heard the unmistakable sound of a child being hit and then silence.
Dinner was no better. They were given bowls of watery soup with a chunk of stale bread. Calvin barely touched his food, his head drooping.
"You have to eat," Anna urged. "You need your strength."
"I'm not hungry," he said softly, pushing the bowl away.
Anna's stomach growled in protest, but she pushed her own bowl toward him. "Take mine."
"But—"
"Please," she insisted.
Reluctantly, he took a few sips, but it wasn't enough. Anna watched him with growing worry.
That night, they lay curled on the thin mattress in the far corner of the dormitory. Calvin clung to her, his small body radiating heat and exhaustion. She held him tightly, her chin resting atop his soft curls.
"I don't like this place," he whispered.
"Me neither," she said softly.
Outside, the wind howled against the windows. Inside, there was only the occasional creak of the floor, the soft breathing of the other children, and the quiet sobs that never fully stopped.
"But I promise, Calvin…" she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'll get us out. I don't know how yet, but I will."
She felt him nod against her chest, too tired to respond.
In that moment, surrounded by darkness and despair, Anna made a silent vow. Not just to survive—but to protect Calvin at all costs. To endure whatever she had to. To keep him safe, even if it meant breaking herself in the process.
No one would hurt him again.
Not while she was alive.
The next morning, Anna awoke before the shouting. She sat up slowly, brushing a strand of hair from Calvin's forehead. He was still asleep, his brow furrowed even in rest. She gently pressed her fingers to his chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart. Still steady—for now.
When the door burst open, she was already standing.
The routine began again—chores, silence, bruises hidden beneath sleeves. Mira was assigned to clean beside her once more.
"You still thinking about escape?" Mira asked in a low voice, not meeting Anna's eyes.
Anna hesitated. "I have to. For him."
Mira gave a bitter laugh. "They all say that at first."
"But you didn't give up," Anna said. "You're still here. You haven't broken."
Mira didn't answer.
Anna looked down at the rag in her hand, then at the vent near the floor. Rusted, narrow, but maybe… just maybe… she could fit.
"I'll find a way," she whispered.
And this time, she meant it.