Moana
“Follow me,” the director of the orphanage, Sophia, said. Her sad expression when I mentioned my identity gave me cause for concern, and as I followed her blonde head of hair up the narrow wooden stairs to her office, I felt my heart start to beat faster than it had been before.
Sophia led me into her office and gestured for me to sit as she closed the door behind us. I sat on the edge of the straight-backed wooden chair across from her desk, clutching my purse nervously in my lap.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your heritage sooner,” Sophia said as she walked over to one of the tall metal filing cabinets at the back of the room that contained records of current and past children at the orphanage. “It’s our policy to not bring it up, for the sake of the children’s men
