After swapping contact info, Darien stepped out.
The little girl peeked at Verity, who was still quiet, and asked softly,
"Big sis… another loss?"
"…"
"Get to work!"
"Oh."
…
Darien didn't care about making a profit—he just wanted things done fast.
The shop was tucked away in a quiet part of Manhattan, so he had to go out of his way to grab a bite afterward.
Back home that afternoon, he called Eliana to let her know the truck was bought.
She showed up in person, raising an eyebrow.
"Okay… you bought a truck. Planning to actually use it?"
"Not really. Maybe every now and then. I just like this kind of truck, so I went for it." Darien shrugged.
"Alright, start with the temporary registration. I'll handle the official one under my dad's name in a few days."
"That's really kind of you!"
Darien nodded, then asked Eliana like an afterthought, "You free later? Want to come with me somewhere?"
"Sure! I've just been hanging around at home anyway."
"Alright, let's hit the stores first."
They stopped by a bookstore—Darien picked up children's books—then moved on to brand-name clothes, cakes, and other items.
The bill quickly climbed into the tens of thousands.
Eliana raised an eyebrow. "All this… for what?"
Darien smiled. "I grew up in a welfare home. Never had the chance to give back. Now that things are a bit better, I figured it's time to visit—the folks who raised me deserve that."
Eliana didn't comment. She'd always had an easy life, loved and cared for by her parents—hard for her to fully get what Darien felt.
Best not to say anything, in case she hit a sore spot.
After more than two hours on the road, they were leaving Manhattan behind. In a quiet stretch, Darien eased the truck to a stop.
"It's just up ahead."
The worn sign read Hope Welfare Institute. Seeing it, Darien felt a wave of emotion—just as he remembered, almost untouched by time.
"Let's go," he said.
…
The Hope Welfare Institute was small but had stood the test of time.
Deans had come and gone, and countless kids had passed through its doors. Most grew up managing okay, but none had really made it big—no one could truly give back to the place.
The orphanage scraped by on government funds and the occasional generous donation.
When Darien rolled up in his truck, heads turned. In this quiet area, a ride like that didn't go unnoticed.
"Whoa—check that out! A Raptor? Must be someone big coming to adopt, huh?"
Some staff whispered among themselves.
"Hasn't been anyone here in ages… hope they're good people."
"Looks like they're heading in. Let's alert the dean."
The truck eased up to the gate. Before it fully stopped, the heavy iron gates creaked open.
Kids peeked out, curious but cautious. A few staff in their forties and fifties hurried over.
Darien and Eliana stepped down.
"Hello!"
Darien smiled warmly. He didn't recognize any of the staff—his old caretakers were long gone.
"Are you here to adopt…?"
One of the aunts eyed them carefully, noting how young they looked. She paused, then spoke more formally:
"If you're here to adopt, the law requires a married couple over thirty with no children. May I ask your ages?"
The kids didn't understand the rules—they just watched, hopeful that these kind-looking visitors might take them away.
"No, no, you've got it wrong. I'm not here to adopt—I came to donate supplies."
Darien waved his hand.
The staff looked a little disappointed at first, then brightened immediately at the word "donation."
"Welcome! Welcome! May we have your names? Please, come in."
"Darien Vaelcrest. I grew up here. This is Eliana Montclair, my friend."
The staff perked up. It had been ages since an alum returned with a donation.
Eliana looked at the kids peeking shyly at her, and her heart softened. She'd never seen anything like it—she almost wanted to adopt a few herself.
"By the way, where's the dean?"
Darien asked, scanning the unfamiliar faces.
"I sent a child to fetch him—he'll be here soon," the woman replied.
A few moments later, an elderly man in his sixties, mustache neatly trimmed, walked in steadily, followed by a thin, middle-aged woman.
"Dean, Ms. Blake, meet Darien Vaelcrest and Eliana Montclair. Darien spent his childhood here at the orphanage."
"Mr. Vaelcrest, this is our dean, Mr. Reid, and our only teacher, Ms. Blake," one of the staff added.
As formal introductions wrapped up, Mr. Reid and Ms. Blake studied Darien with curious eyes. He felt slightly dazed—this wasn't the dean he remembered.
"You must've been raised by Mrs. Danver," Mr. Reid said, reading his expression. "She passed away three years ago. I've been in charge since."
"She's gone…" Darien muttered, his chest tight.
Eliana tapped his back gently. "It's okay, Darien. I'm sure she had no regrets."
Darien nodded slowly. "Yeah."
"I brought books, clothes, and cakes—they're all in the truck. I'll go grab them."
---
🔍Did you know?
- Modern orphanages started developing in the 18th and 19th centuries, providing shelter, education, and care for children without families—before that, many orphans had to survive on the streets or in workhouses.
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