ELISE
I grew up in an orphanage since I was 2 years old. For me, life begins from the day I first realized that this place was "home." Every memory I have—both good and bad—is tied to those walls.
I was 7 when I got adopted. Everyone told me I was lucky.
"You have a new family now."
"Everything will be fine."
I believed them.
The family that adopted me didn't have children of their own. They were a couple in their late 40s or early 50s. The woman was very kind—the kind of "mother" I had always dreamed of. She did everything to make me feel comfortable. She cared for me, never letting me feel neglected.
But the man… the man was different. I never liked the way he looked at me. His gaze was cold. It felt like he never loved me from the very beginning. Still, he never showed aggression. He liked drinking, which is why "Mom" often argued with him.
A few months later, just when I thought I finally had a real family, it happened.
One day, it was just me and "Dad" at home. He started drinking. I watched him… and I was scared.
"Dad, please stop drinking, Mom will get mad again…"
Those were simple words. But for him, they were enough.
He beat me with a belt… so badly that I lost consciousness.
A few days later, I was sent back to the orphanage.
Something inside me broke that day. And that part of me has never healed.
Since then—when I hear people arguing… when someone shouts… when I see violence… I can't breathe. My heart races. Everything spins.
And I'm back in that room again. A helpless 7-year-old child.
That's why I decided—I would never leave this place. The orphanage… the only place where I felt safe. At least here, I knew what to expect.
And then… a few months ago, everything changed.
The owner of the orphanage—Aunt Mary—suddenly passed away. One day… she was just gone. She was the one who protected us, who cared for us.
After her death, everything fell apart.
Her property was left to her nephew—a man who didn't care about the orphanage at all. To him, this place was just land… and he decided to sell it.
That was the first time since childhood that I felt that fear again.
The children here are all under 13. Helpless. Vulnerable. And I can't just stand by and watch them end up on the streets… or worse—end up in families like mine.
It takes a huge amount of money to save this place. An amount that is impossible for us.
But I can't just sit and wait. I can't watch everything fall apart.
That's why I'm here now… in this room. That's why I'm doing this.
Maybe I'm losing myself. Maybe I'm crossing my own boundaries… but if it means these children get to keep their "home"… then maybe it's worth it.
Or maybe… I'm just trying to convince myself.
A few days ago, Samantha came. She also grew up in this orphanage. Her little sister is still here.
We sat in the yard and talked a bit.
"I can help you find a job," she told me. "They'll pay well."
My heart started beating faster. I felt hope. For the first time, I thought maybe there was a chance.
She gave me her address and told me to come the next day.
That evening, I went to Aunt Jane's office. She runs the orphanage—a 60-year-old woman who is like a mother to us. The kindest, warmest, most caring person in the world.
She was sitting at her desk, staring at some papers, deep in thought.
"Elise, what are you doing here?"
I told her everything… about Samantha's offer, about the job, about my decision.
She listened quietly. Then sighed softly.
"Elise… you understand yourself," she said gently, "you can't earn that kind of money in one month. No matter what you do."
I knew. Of course I knew.
"I know," I said quietly, "but I can't just sit here and watch them throw us out. I can leave, take care of myself, but the children…"
"This home is everything to me…" I whispered, my voice breaking. Tears filled my eyes.
She stood up slowly, came closer, and gently touched my head.
"Calm down. I'll think of something."
But we both knew… there was nothing to think of.
That evening, I packed a small suitcase. I didn't have much. A few clothes. A few memories. And a whole life I had to leave behind.
I left early in the morning. I didn't want to see anyone. I knew I would break down if I saw the children.
I had only $45 in my pocket… and hope. That was all.
After a few hours of travel, I arrived at the address Samantha gave me. It was a small one-story house. I rang the bell.
Samantha opened the door, half-asleep, and let me in.
The living room was a complete mess—clothes, bottles, boxes… dirty dishes in the kitchen.
"Do you ever clean?" I asked, looking around.
"I'm barely home," she laughed. "Your room is over there."
She pointed, then lay down on the couch and closed her eyes.
I entered the room. It was messy too. I put my suitcase in the corner and looked around.
It was small. A single bed near the window, a nightstand beside it. A wardrobe across from it. Some drawings hung on one wall. A makeup table stood by the other.
After looking around, I went back to the living room.
"Samantha," I called. No answer.
"Samantha."
"What?" she sighed, opening one eye.
"I want to talk about the job. I need to start working as soon as possible."
"What can you do?" she asked, sitting up.
"Anything," I said. "I'll do whatever is needed."
"Anything?" she repeated, looking me up and down.
I nodded.
"Where do you work?" I asked.
"I work at a strip club."
"What?!" I jumped up. "Are you crazy? You're not offering me that, are you?!"
"I'm offering you something better," she yawned. "Somewhere you can make $100,000 in one night."
"Have you lost your mind? Are you suggesting I rob a bank?!"
She started laughing.
"If I could rob a bank, I wouldn't be here. Sit down and relax."
"Did you really think you'd make that kind of money working as a cleaner in a month?" she said, still laughing.
I knew she was right… but I didn't want to admit it.
"In three days, one of our clients is having a birthday. If you sleep with him, you'll get $100,000."
"Oh my God… are you joking?"
I froze. I couldn't breathe.
"Yes… if you're a virgin."
"What…?" I whispered.
"Do you see any other way?" she asked.
"I'm not doing this," I said and ran to the room.
"You're an idiot!" she shouted after me.
I fell onto the bed. My heart was racing. I knew I had no other choice… but I couldn't accept it.
I closed my eyes… and saw the children's faces.
I imagined them being thrown out… crying… searching for help…
Tears started falling on their own.
I didn't know if I was crying for them… or for myself.
Three days later… I found myself in the room where everything began.