The sun had barely crept past the eastern hills when Miss Hopkins found herself alone in the small office off the kitchen, the only quiet place in the orphanage. The morning bustle had settled; the children were out in the courtyard playing, and breakfast dishes were stacked neatly to dry.
Mr. Thistle and Mrs. Penley stood across the room, reviewing a thin ledger book with weary eyes. The numbers inside were bleak.
"We've barely enough to last us two more months," Mr. Thistle muttered, adjusting his spectacles. "And that's without counting the repair work for the roof."
Mrs. Penley folded her arms. "We'll stretch what we have, like always. But we need a miracle, that's what we need."
Miss Hopkins remained silent, standing near the window, watching the children play. Her gaze drifted back inside the room, to the baby asleep in her cradle nearby — the mysterious child who'd arrived only the night before.
"Do you think she was abandoned because her family couldn't afford to keep her?" Mrs. Penley asked gently.
Miss Hopkins sighed. "Maybe. But there's something about her… She's not ordinary. I feel it in my bones."
The conversation lulled into silence as the weight of their reality sank in. The orphanage had weathered many storms, but lately the skies had felt heavier, darker. The pantry was thin, the blankets worn, and the repairs long overdue.
Miss Hopkins moved toward the hallway, meaning to fetch a few sheets from the linen closet. As she passed the front entrance, something caught her eye. The floorboard near the door — the one that always squeaked — was slightly raised. Strange.
Curious, she knelt and pressed her fingers under the edge. With a soft creak, the board lifted away, revealing a shallow space below.
Inside sat a cloth bundle.
Her breath caught.
With trembling hands, she pulled it free and carefully unwrapped it. Her eyes widened.
Gold coins. Dozens of them. Polished and glowing even in the dim morning light.
"Good heavens…" she whispered.
She hurried back to the office, bundle in hand. "Mr. Thistle! Mrs. Penley! Come quick."
The two staff members turned, alarmed at her tone. But when she spread the cloth across the desk, their gasps joined hers.
"Is this—? Is it real?" Mrs. Penley asked, reaching out but not quite touching.
"It's real," Mr. Thistle confirmed, testing the weight of one. "Old mint… this is solid gold."
Miss Hopkins looked toward the cradle in the corner.
"Whoever left her… they didn't abandon her completely," she said softly. "They made sure she'd be cared for."
Mr. Thistle stared at the pile. "This could keep us going for seven years. Maybe more."
Mrs. Penley sat slowly in the nearest chair, hands over her mouth. "A miracle," she whispered.
Outside, the children laughed and ran, unaware that the tides of their future had just turned.
Inside, three adults stood in stunned silence, with one silent promise hanging in the air — to protect the child, whatever it might cost.
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Chapter: Her First Step
Time slipped by in a flurry of gentle seasons and warm laughter. The once-quiet cradle in the corner of the nursery was now empty — not because of sorrow, but because the baby girl, now fondly called Star by the children, had grown into a giggling toddler with a wild mop of dark curls and a laugh that made even the grumpiest child smile.
It was late morning when it happened.
The children were gathered in the playroom, their attention scattered across dolls, blocks, and books. Miss Hopkins was mending a tear in a curtain while Mrs. Penley prepared the midday soup. Star, balanced on her wobbly little feet, clutched the edge of a wooden chair. She looked around with her big, curious eyes — and then, as if summoned by some silent urge, she took one hesitant step forward.
Then another.
And another.
Gasps filled the room.
"She's walking!" shrieked Ellie, the curly-haired six-year-old, dropping her toy to point.
"Star's walking!"
The room exploded with excitement. Children ran to her, clapping and cheering as Star stumbled adorably forward, her arms outstretched for balance. She fell into Georgie's lap, giggling, and the boy beamed as if he'd won a medal.
"She came to me! I'm her favorite!" he announced proudly.
"No, she looked at me first!" Ellie argued, her voice rising with indignation.
"She always smiles more when I feed her!" piped in little Henry, crossing his arms.
"That's not true! She always hugs me after nap time," insisted Mila.
The room burst into chaotic debate as the children bickered about who Star loved the most. Some pouted, others crossed their arms or stomped tiny feet in frustration.
Miss Hopkins watched from the doorway with a soft chuckle. "Goodness, she's caused a war already."
Mrs. Penley peered in from the kitchen with a smile. "It's a lovely problem to have."
Eventually, Star crawled over to Ellie and reached up for a hug, causing a fresh wave of squeals.
"See! She does love me best!"
"No fair! Next time it's my turn to hold her!"
The laughter continued as the children sat in a circle around Star, taking turns singing to her, clapping whenever she took another step. Whatever fears or mysteries had once surrounded the little girl were now buried beneath a mountain of affection.
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