That night, long after the lights dimmed and the guests had gone home, Ava couldn’t forget Eli’s smile — or the sadness behind it.
Days turned into weeks, but the image of the little boy in the red napkin cape haunted her. Finally, one rainy evening, Ava found herself parked outside St. Andrew’s Orphanage, her car headlights cutting through the drizzle.
A gentle-faced nun, Sister Helena, opened the door in surprise. “Miss Reynolds? My goodness, we weren’t expecting a visit.”
“I met one of your boys at the gala,” Ava said softly. “Eli Turner.”
Sister Helena’s expression warmed instantly. “Ah, our little superhero.”
They walked through narrow halls lined with children’s drawings and laughter echoing faintly down the corridor. When they reached a small room, Ava saw him — asleep, one hand clutching a broken toy car. On the wall above his bed hung a crayon drawing: a stick boy in a red cape holding hands with a tall woman in a gown. Beneath it, in clumsy handwriting, were the words Me and the Lady from the Party.
Ava’s throat tightened. Something inside her cracked open.
She sat quietly beside his bed, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. Eli stirred and blinked at her. “Miss Ava? Did I save you again?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Maybe you did, Eli,” she whispered. “Maybe you did.”
