Hannah
The director was a kind, rosy-cheeked woman in her mid-fifties who introduced herself as Margaret. She beamed at Noah and me as she led the way inside the orphanage, chattering about the facility’s history and her dedication to providing the children with a warm, loving home.
I only half-listened, to be honest, too busy sneaking sidelong glances at Noah out of the corner of my eye. As promised, the slightly mangled paper crown was still perched on top of his head, although he kept reaching up to adjust it self-consciously every few minutes.
Unable to help myself, I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle a grin. He looked utterly mortified beneath that silly hat, his shoulders hunched and his gaze fixed firmly on the floor in front of him.
It was… well, kind of cute, in a
