Twenty-three years ago...
At St. Evelyn's Home for Children - 6:23 PM
Rain gently tapped against the tall windows of St. Evelyn's Home for Children, a rhythmic percussion that usually soothed the children to sleep.
But this evening, the large, warm playroom was bright and full of laughter. Cushions were scattered, books opened wide, and dozens of young eyes were fixed on a beautiful young woman seated in a crescent moon-shaped chair in the center of the room.
Ms. Marlene Whitaker - vibrant, striking, and barely in her thirties - read aloud with a voice that danced between characters.
Her afro was tied back in a colorful scarf, her dark skin glowing in the soft yellow light of the hanging lamps. Her eyes shimmered as she brought the tale to life.
"And so," she said with a dramatic pause, "the hero kissed her one last time under the crescent moon, his heart breaking with every step away. For he knew, to love her was to curse her with danger. And so, he left, not because he didn't love her - but because he loved her too much."
A hush fell over the children. Then a small hand shot up. It belonged to Amira, a clever girl of about eight with big brown eyes.
"Ms. Marlene," she asked with genuine curiosity, "why did he really leave her? Couldn't he stay and protect her?"
Marlene closed the book and looked thoughtfully at Amira. The other children turned their eyes toward their caretaker, sensing her shift into something more personal, more real.
"Sometimes," Marlene began softly, "being brave doesn't always mean fighting dragons or villains. Sometimes, it means walking away - from the person you love the most. He left because he feared that staying would bring her pain or danger. It takes courage to walk away for someone else's sake."
Amira nodded slowly, her eyes wide in admiration. "He's my favorite hero now."
Marlene smiled and reached out to pat her head, her heart full. It was in these moments she felt hope bloom despite the sad stories each child carried.
Then, as if fate were listening, a quiet knock echoed from the front entrance. Marlene paused.
The children remained silent, instinctively sensing something had shifted. She stood up and walked briskly to the hallway, her heels echoing softly against the polished wooden floors.
At the open archway stood a young woman. Soaked from the rain, she was shivering, cradling something in her arms. Her hood obscured much of her face, but Marlene could see blonde strands stuck to pale skin and eyes that shone light green - unmistakably Nordic in origin.
She was breathtaking in her own way, like something torn from a snow-covered fairytale - but her beauty was eclipsed by panic and desperation.
Marlene approached slowly, her voice calm and kind. "Can I help you, sweetheart?"
The young woman looked over her shoulder, eyes darting, full of fear. She clutched the bundle tighter, but her hands were trembling. "Please," she whispered, her voice cracked and broken, "take him. Take care of him for me. I... I can't keep him safe. Not where I'm going."
Marlene's heart dropped. She instinctively reached for the bundle - a baby, swaddled in a soft blue blanket. He was no more than a few weeks old. His tiny eyes fluttered but didn't open.
The young woman took a deep breath and stepped forward, holding the child out. "Please," she repeated, her voice firmer now. "He doesn't deserve the life that's waiting for me. I don't want to drag him into it. You'll protect him here. Right?"
Marlene looked into her eyes - those haunting, tear-filled eyes - and understood. This wasn't abandonment. This was salvation.
"I promise," Marlene said quietly, her voice steady, her arms open. "He will be safe here. He will be loved."
The woman hesitated, gently leaned forward, and placed a soft kiss on the baby's forehead. Then she handed him over.
Marlene cradled the infant against her chest. When she looked up again, the woman had already turned and was running into the rainy night.
"Wait! What's your name?"
The woman paused, her back still turned.
"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice echoing against the silence. "What matters is that he has a future now."
Then she disappeared into the mist.
Marlene stood at the entrance for a long moment, her arms wrapped protectively around the baby. She gently rocked him as his tiny fingers reached toward her.
"Ms. Marlene?"
She turned. Amira was standing at the end of the hall, and soon the others joined.
"Who's that?" a boy asked.
Marlene smiled. Her heart ached, but something warm and maternal glowed in her chest. She walked back into the playroom, the children flocking around her.
"This," she said proudly, "is someone very special."
"What's his name?" one girl asked.
Marlene paused. She looked at the baby, who had begun to coo softly, peacefully. The woman never gave a name.
"Ian," she said, deciding then and there. "His name is Ian."
The children clapped and cheered, welcoming their new brother. Amira touched his tiny hand.
"Welcome home, Ian."
That night, as the rain continued to fall, Marlene stood by the crib where Ian slept soundly, his small chest rising and falling.
Her mind wandered back to the mysterious woman with Nordic features - the desperation in her voice, the elegance in her bearing, the way she fled into the night.
Who was she running from? And why did she trust Ian to her?
Marlene didn't have the answers. But she knew one thing for sure: she would protect Ian with all her heart.
She whispered a quiet prayer over him, then returned to her desk. She began filling out the intake papers:
Name: Ian
Approximate Age: Newborn
Found: Delivered by unknown woman at front door.
Notes: No identifying documents. Nordic features. Possible Scandinavian descent.
She closed the folder. A storm still roared outside, but inside St. Evelyn's Home for Children, a tiny flame of hope had been lit.
And his name was Ian.