“Thank you for inviting me to do this with you.”
She could feel the depth behind his words—he wasn’t just thanking her for the gesture itself, but for allowing him into a part of her she rarely shared. He understood, without a word, how much this visit meant to her, and how much trust it took to open her heart this way.
She gently squeezed his hand in response. “Thank you for being willing.”
“Always,” he replied quietly.
The rest of the journey passed in silence, broken only by the gentle rhythm of his touch. His thumb traced slow circular patterns across her palm, and then his fingers wandered delicately along the lines of her hand. Each careful movement sent a feeling of elation through her.
They reached the orphanage, a modest brick building tucked away from the busier streets. Snow had drifted into soft mounds along the windowsills, and the wind rattled the old panes. The war had left many children without homes, and Isla’s chesttightened at the memory of her own time spent in London at such a place.
“Would you mind helping me with the packages?” she asked.
“Absolutely. I’ve always wanted to play Santa,” Andrew said with a grin.
Isla let out a small giggle and ducked her head against the chill.
“This is exciting,” he continued. “What’s in the packages?”
“Oh, simple things,” she replied, lifting a basket full of small parcels and offering it to him. “I knit scarves throughout the year, and I pick up small wooden toys when I can find them.”
Andrew leaned close, his voice quiet, warm in her ear. “Like I said, you’re special.”
Her heart warmed at the words. She lifted a second basket full of packages and, with a nod to the driver, who had agreed to wait for them, together they walked toward the door, the cold biting at their cheeks, the snow crunching softly beneath their feet.
“You know,” Isla said, hesitating to knock as she traced her now-gloved hand along the doorframe, “as much as I love coming here, it always reminds me of how lonely it was when I was in such a place ... how frightening. The matron in London ruled with an iron fist.”
Andrew’s eyes softened, watching her speak. He didn’t rush her; the quiet patience was comforting.
“There was a cleaning lady,” Isla said after a pause. “She befriended me ... became a grandmotherly figure in a strange little way. She was my light.” She shrugged, a small wistful gesture. “She cleaned other buildings too and told me that allthose who were successful read ... so I read. As much as I could. She’d even sneak me books from the library.”
“So, you took on her challenge,” Andrew smiled.
Isla’s grin was small but proud. “Exactly. You know me—I like a challenge.”
“That you do.”
“Anyway, it’s just hard sometimes to be here; as much as I love the children, it brings back hard memories.”
“I can only imagine, but you aren’t alone anymore. And what you have achieved is amazing. What you have endured has made you into this incredible, empathetic woman who would brave the elements to bring joy to others.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said with a self-deprecating smile, her tone lightly teasing. “But ‘incredible’? I think you’re exaggerating.”
“Wait, did I just hear you correctly? Could you repeat something? Because I thought you just said I’m right.”
She nudged his arm with her shoulder. “Don’t let it go to that big head of yours.”
“A big head means a big brain, Isla. What can I say?”
“Yes, well, it is said a Stegosaurus has a brain the size of a walnut despite its massive body and big head.”
Andrew laughed as she knocked on the door. A lady opened it, encouraging them to step through the threshold. She motioned them to wait while she rounded up the children.
“Isla ...” Andrew’s voice was hesitant, gentle, as if approaching something fragile.
“Yes?” she said, her heart fluttering at the seriousness in his tone.
“Why are you afraid of storms? Did something happen when you were in the London orphanage?”
