When He Comes to Me

"I'm not afraid. I can do this."

Sylvia was sweating, panicking like a legion of ants crawled up her skin while she lay stiff in bed. Only, it wasn't ants but a creeping sense of anxiety. Her heart pounded louder with each footstep of Sister Agnes echoing through the hallway.

'Can't she walk faster? It's not like she's old or something,' she grumbled in her thoughts. But Sylvia knew this was just her panic talking.

"She never checks inside the rooms," she mumbled to herself. "Just the hallway, then straight to bed."

She had spent the past few nights memorizing the nun's routine, staying up much later than the other girls in her dorm, carefully planning her escape. Even so, her senses spiked when the beam of Sister Agnes' flashlight swept beneath the door.

Sylvia held her breath, fingers tightening around the sack in her arms. Inside, it held everything she had in the world-a few clothes and half a loaf of stale bread. Not much, but enough to survive.

"Just a few more seconds," she whispered. "Just a few more seconds, and you'll be free."

The light slowly faded from the gap underneath the door, with the sound of the nun's footsteps growing distant. Then, finally, a door creaked shut, and silence settled over the orphanage. Sylvia exhaled shakily, forcing her body to move . . . It was now or never.

Her gaze darted to the window-the first obstacle in her escape. It was slightly open, letting in the cool night air, thick with the scent of damp earth and leaves. The other girls were all still sleeping deeply, their quiet breaths filling the dormitory-except for Rachel and Dorcas, who snored like the greedy pigs they were.

They alone would miss her. Without her, who else would they have to torment?

"No one here will miss me," she told herself quietly.

She slipped off her bed and crept toward the window, her bare feet making no sound on the cold wooden floor. The old hinges groaned softly as she pushed it wider. Sylvia froze. Waited. No one stirred.

'I can do this,' she thought, even as her chest tightened.

The orphanage hadn't been home for a long time-not since Sister Agnes doubled down on her strict rules after the board's last inspection. Warm meals had turned to watery soup, and the little kindness Sylvia once remembered had been replaced with cold stares and sharp words.

But the final straw had come just days ago.

Marilyn-her closest friend, the girl she had practically grown up with-was adopted. Just like that, gone. Sylvia had always known adoption was the goal, the dream every child was supposed to hope for. But Marilyn leaving had torn something inside her.

At first, she tried to pretend it didn't matter. But everything changed after that. Rachel and Dorcas, the two oldest girls in the orphanage, turned on her. They had always been cruel in passing, throwing sharp words her way, but now they had a new target-someone alone, someone too angry to bother making new friends.

It started small. Taking her blanket when she wasn't looking. Knocking over her bowl at breakfast and laughing when she had to clean up the mess. Then it got worse-whispers behind her back, lies to the nuns, sharp pinches and elbow jabs when no one was watching.

Sylvia reported them, but it only made things worse. The nuns barely paid attention, dismissing her complaints as childish bickering. And then Sister Agnes, the one person she had hoped would listen, scolded her instead.

"How do you expect to get adopted with such poor behavior?" the nun had said, shaking her head in disappointment.

Sylvia had stood there, fists clenched, biting back the words she wanted to scream. That was the moment she knew she wasn't going to wait around, hoping to be chosen by some stranger. She was going to leave. On her own terms.

Sylvia climbed onto the ledge, gripping the frame. The drop was far, and the ground below glistened with mud from the rain. Her knees wobbled, but she bit her lip and jumped.

The impact jarred her legs, sending a shock up her spine, but she didn't stop. She scrambled to her feet, the sack pressed to her chest, and ran. The gate was ahead, the iron bars rusted and bent just enough for her to squeeze through.