Chapter 10

That night, Victoria lay awake, staring at the pale ceiling of her small room. The faint hum of the fan above her did little to quiet her thoughts. Her body was exhausted from the day’s work, but her mind refused to rest.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her — little Katrina — sitting beneath that almond tree, clutching her broken doll as if it were the last piece of her world.

Something about that child had reached inside her, pulling at the corners of her heart she thought were sealed forever.

She turned restlessly on her bed, pressing the pillow against her chest. The image of those innocent eyes — so full of Sajah’s quiet fire — would not leave her.

Days passed, but the feeling only grew stronger. Every morning, between kneading dough and tending to her small bakery, she caught herself wondering what Katrina was doing. Had she eaten? Was she still quiet and alone? Did she sleep through the night, or cry in the dark like Kira once did?

The ache became a constant pulse beneath her ribs — a longing she didn’t know how to name.

By the end of the week, she understood it clearly.

She couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Kira — or Victoria, as the world now knew her — decided she would adopt Katrina.

It wasn’t a sudden impulse. It was something deeper, like destiny whispering through her bones. Perhaps it was the universe giving her a second chance — to pour all the love she had once given Sajah into someone who needed it.

A new beginning. A silent promise. A binding vow between two souls who had both been left behind.

That night, she sat by her window, the moonlight painting her face with a soft glow. She held Sajah’s old pendant — the one she had never been able to throw away — and whispered, “Maybe this is what you wanted, Sajah. Maybe loving her will bring you closer.”

Her tears glimmered as they fell onto her palm, warm and real.

The next morning, she rose early, dressed neatly in a cream blouse and a long skirt, and tied her hair with a ribbon. She closed the bakery for the day and made her way to the orphanage, her heart thudding with quiet resolve.

The sun had barely risen when she arrived. The nun at the entrance recognized her immediately and smiled warmly. “Miss Victoria, you’re early today.”

“I came to see Katrina,” she said softly. “And I’d like to… I want to adopt her.”

The nun blinked, taken aback. “Adopt?”

Victoria nodded firmly, her voice trembling slightly. “Yes. I’ve thought about it. She deserves a home. She deserves love.”

The nun looked at her long and hard — as though trying to read her soul. Then she smiled. “You’ve been good to these children since the day you arrived here. I believe your heart is true. Let me call the Sister in charge of adoptions.”

The next few hours were filled with paperwork, questions, and formalities. Victoria’s hands shook slightly as she signed each form, but her resolve didn’t waver once. Every signature felt like a vow — a promise she was making not just to the child, but to herself.

By afternoon, everything was approved.

When the nun finally led her to the children’s hall, where Katrina sat playing quietly with her doll, Victoria’s breath caught again. The same calmness, the same innocence. It was as though fate had waited for her to come back.

“Katrina,” the nun said gently, “someone wants to see you.”

The little girl turned her head, her eyes curious but guarded. When she saw Victoria, a flicker of recognition passed through her face. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t turn away either.

Victoria knelt down and opened her arms. “Hi, sweetheart. Remember me?”

The child nodded faintly. “You brought me chocolates.”

“Yes,” Victoria said with a trembling smile. “And I came to bring you something else today.”

“What?” the girl asked quietly.

“A home,” she whispered. “If you’ll have me.”

The nuns stood quietly nearby, their eyes glistening.

For a moment, Katrina didn’t move. Then she clutched her doll tighter and whispered, “Can I take her with me?”

Victoria laughed softly, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Of course, my love. You can take her everywhere.”

By evening, they were home.

Victoria held Katrina’s small hand as they climbed the narrow stairs to her apartment. The bakery downstairs was closed, its warm scent still lingering in the air. The setting sun poured gold through the window, lighting the walls as though blessing their new beginning.

“This is where we live now,” Victoria said softly, opening the door.

The room was small — just two rooms she rented — but cozy. The first was the living area, neat and simple, with a small couch and a table covered with lace. The second was the bedroom, which she had prepared earlier in the day with fresh sheets and a soft pink blanket.

Katrina stood quietly, her big eyes taking in everything.

Victoria placed her bag down and turned to her with a smile. “Come, let me show you your room.”

She opened the door to the smaller room — freshly cleaned, with a tiny bed covered in floral sheets and a shelf filled with storybooks and two new dolls she had bought that morning.

Katrina gasped softly, her small hand flying to her mouth. “Is this mine?”

“Yes,” Victoria said gently. “All yours.”

The child ran in and touched the blanket, her eyes bright for the first time in weeks. “It’s so pretty.”

Victoria watched her, smiling through the tightness in her chest. “I’m glad you like it.”

When they sat down later for dinner — a simple meal of rice and stew — Katrina ate slowly, still glancing around as though afraid she might wake from a dream.

Victoria spoke softly, asking little questions to make her comfortable.

“Do you like your room?”

“Yes, Aunt Kiki,” the child said politely.

Victoria chuckled softly. “Don’t call me Aunt Kiki.”

The little girl blinked. “Then what should I call you?”

Victoria leaned closer, her voice tender. “Call me Mom. I’m your mom now, from now on.”

For a heartbeat, Katrina froze. Then her small lips trembled, and tears welled in her eyes. She stood up from her chair and ran into Victoria’s arms, hugging her tightly around the neck.

Victoria held her close, stroking her hair. “It’s all right, my love. You’re safe now. You have a home, and you have me.”

Katrina’s voice was small, muffled against her shoulder. “Thank you, Mom.”

And in that one word — Mom — Victoria’s heart finally mended a little. It was as if all the pieces she had been holding together since Sajah left had found a reason to stay whole.

That night, when she tucked Katrina into bed, the child whispered sleepily, “Mom, your home is small, but it feels warm.”

Victoria smiled. “Then it’s perfect.”

The days that followed passed quickly, turning into weeks. Life settled into a rhythm that felt almost like happiness.

Every morning, Victoria woke early to bake bread and cakes for the day. She would pack lunch for Katrina, brush her little curls, and walk her to the nearby primary school. The teachers adored her instantly — polite, bright, and sweet-tempered.

Katrina learned fast. She always came home with stars drawn on her exercise books and a smile on her face. Her teachers often told Victoria, “Your daughter is exceptional. She’s smart beyond her age.”

Every praise made Victoria’s chest swell with pride. She found herself working harder at the bakery, waking earlier, staying open later — not because she had to, but because she wanted to. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t working just to survive; she was working for someone she loved.

Katrina, despite being only four, was remarkably kind and gentle. She would help her mother in small ways around the bakery — wiping tables, arranging the bread neatly on the counter, handing out sweets to customers.

She had a way of making people smile without trying.

Her tiny voice always carried warmth. “Good morning, sir!” “Thank you, ma!”

And whenever someone bought bread, she would add cheerfully, “Please come again!”

Customers often laughed, charmed by her cuteness, and many bought more than they planned just to please her. Some would say, “Your daughter’s smile is good luck, Victoria!”

Victoria would laugh softly and nod. “Yes, she’s my little sunshine.”

Katrina was naturally hardworking. Even when her mother told her to rest, she would say, “Mom, let me help you.” She would carry small trays, sweep the bakery floor, or sit beside her mother and hum softly while watching the oven glow.

And every evening, when the shop closed and the streets grew quiet, they would sit by the window together, sharing leftover pastries and talking about school, dreams, and stories.

“Mom,” Katrina said one night as the stars blinked above, “when I grow up, I want to bake too — just like you.”

Victoria smiled and kissed her forehead. “You will, my love. And you’ll be even better.”

The child giggled. “Then we’ll make cakes for everyone!”

Her laughter filled the room, warm and golden, chasing away every shadow.

In those moments, Victoria realized something she hadn’t before: love didn’t always return in the way you gave it. Sometimes, it came back in a smaller form — in tiny hands, in innocent smiles, in a voice that called you Mom.

And every night, before they slept, Victoria whispered the same words — her silent vow written in the quiet of their little home:

“You’re my new beginning, Katrina. My reason. My promise kept.”

And so the two of them — the woman who once ran from her past and the child who had lost her world — built a new life together, one sweet day at a time.