Years passed at St. Araminta’s like the ticking of an old clock — slow and relentless.

  Peter didn’t mark the time by the dates on a calendar or the changing of seasons. He didn’t celebrate the small victories like learning new things or making friends. Instead, he watched the days unfold like scenes in a play he was never meant to be in. Each day was the same. Each night, empty.

  By the time Peter almost turned 10, he had learned to live within the confines of the orphanage. It wasn’t that he had grown used to the place — no, that was impossible. It was more like he had retreated to a corner of his mind where nothing mattered. The cold stone walls of St. Araminta’s were a permanent fixture in his life, as immovable as the whispers of the other children that often swept by his door.

  The other kids… they hadn’t changed much, either.

  Tommy Griggs was still the loudest, his voice echoing through the halls, demanding attention whenever he could get it. He was also the first one to pick on Peter whenever the opportunity arose. “Freak,” Tommy would mutter under his breath, sneering as he passed Peter in the hall. There was a permanent smirk on Clara Dean’s face, the kind that made Peter feel like he was constantly the subject of a joke he wasn’t invited to hear. Benji Crowe, the quiet boy, would never stand up for Peter, but he’d always look uncomfortable when the others made fun of him. Millie Kestrel, who always had her nose in a book, was the only one who never seemed to care about him either way.

  But there was always Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth Wren, the young woman who worked at the orphanage, was a constant in his life. She was the only adult who ever spoke to Peter like he was something more than just a problem. She wasn’t like the nuns, who saw him as something to be fixed. Or the other staff, who treated him with distant pity or cold indifference. Elizabeth, with her brown hair tied back and her eyes full of quiet kindness, saw him for who he was.

  She would often find Peter sitting in the corners of the orphanage, tucked away in the broom closet or in the library where no one bothered him. She didn’t push him to talk, but she always brought him food, always made sure he knew she saw him, even when he didn’t feel like anyone else did.

  “You’re not alone, Peter,” she would say with a gentle smile, “I’m here if you need me.”

  She was the only one who had ever cared.

  The years didn’t feel real to Peter. They were nothing more than days and nights stacked one on top of the other, the only markers being the occasional passing birthday or a brief reminder of a forgotten holiday. Time meant nothing. Until now.

  Today was different. Today was Peter’s 10th birthday.

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  The other kids didn’t care. They didn’t even acknowledge it. It was just another day to them. But Elizabeth… Elizabeth remembered.

  Peter hadn’t expected anything. He’d never expected anything. Birthdays were just another reason for the other children to laugh at him, to point out how different he was. The older he got, the less he wanted to celebrate them. But Elizabeth, with her soft smile, never let him feel forgotten.

  She found him that morning, as usual, in the broom closet, lost in his own world. He’d been drawing again — his usual escape from the dreariness of the orphanage. This time, his crayon was sketching a small, imaginary kingdom on the floor, complete with castles and forests, dragons and knights. In his mind, it was the world he lived in, where he didn’t feel so small and invisible.

  Elizabeth knocked gently before opening the door. “Peter?” Her voice was soft, kind. “It’s time for lunch.”

  Peter didn’t move right away. He was lost in his drawings, the only place where he could make sense of everything. The rest of the world had nothing for him. But Elizabeth always knew how to bring him back.

  She held up a sandwich, wrapped carefully in paper, and a small cookie in her other hand. “Happy birthday, Peter. I made you something special.”

  Peter looked up slowly, blinking as if waking from a long sleep. His gaze softened when he saw the cookie. He wasn’t used to anyone remembering his birthday. Most people at the orphanage didn’t even know. But Elizabeth always did.

  “Thank you,” Peter said quietly, his voice still soft, still distant.

  She smiled. “It’s the best I could do. It’s your favorite, right?”

  He nodded. Cheese and pickles. It had always been his favorite sandwich, even when his parents had been alive.

  “Come on,” Elizabeth said, settling down on the floor beside him. “Let’s eat together, okay?”

  Peter didn’t hesitate. He took the sandwich and the cookie, biting into them slowly, savoring the taste. It was the best birthday gift he could have gotten — not because of the food, but because Elizabeth had remembered. She saw him.

  As he chewed, though, something else tugged at him. He couldn’t help but overhear the whispers of the other children. Through the cracked door of the broom closet, he could hear them talking.

  “You heard? A new girl’s coming tomorrow,” Tommy Griggs said in a loud whisper. “They say she’s real mean.”

  Peter frowned, his stomach tightening. He wasn’t sure he was ready for more teasing, more bullying. The orphanage was bad enough as it was.

  Elizabeth seemed to sense his unease. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Peter. Things change. People change. Maybe this new girl will be different.”

  Peter looked up at her, but his mind was already wandering to the thought of the new girl. He had always hoped that maybe, just maybe, someone would understand him. Maybe this new girl wouldn’t be like the others.

  But it was hard to believe.

  The rest of the day passed like any other. Peter found himself retreating into his thoughts again, pushing the memory of his parents deeper into the recesses of his mind. It was safer there. And when he closed his eyes, he almost felt like Jack was still beside him, guiding him through the world, making everything less lonely.

  As the day drew to a close, Elizabeth came back to check on him. “I’ll bring you another cookie tomorrow,” she said with a wink. “Just a little extra birthday treat. But only if you promise to keep it between us.”

  Peter smiled, nodding.

  “Thanks, Elizabeth,” he said softly.

  “Anytime, Peter. Happy birthday.”

  And as she left, Peter turned back to his drawings. For a moment, he felt something in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t happiness. But it was something close.

  It was the smallest seed of hope.