I Don't Run An Orphanage Novels & Stories

I asked him with a sneer in my voice. “Yeah. Why?” “It does look like—” I took a long look at the building until I found the signpost beside it and the rest of my words died on my lips. Hope Orphanage Home. My gaze widened as I read the signpost again before swirling my head to Perez. “An orphanage. What are we doing here?” “I told you I was going to show you Miguel’s other legal businesses, didn't I?” he cocked his head. "Well this is more of an NGO and not a business."

An actual real expression. After bidding farewell to the children, we made our way to the next orphanage, located on the outskirts of the city. The orphanage, named Blessed Home, had a more serene atmosphere compared to the first one. However, we soon learned that the matron had been involved in a minor accident and was currently receiving treatment at the hospital. Despite this setback, we decided to wait and see if she would return. As we waited, we engaged in conversation with some of the nuns who worked at the orphanage. They shared stories about the children and the challenges they faced in running the facility.

She said. I flipped it open, my heart tugging as I scanned the report. The orphanage had become my second home, the place where I poured the love I could never give my own child. Children with no parents, no one to fight for them, I couldn’t just abandon them. Not when I knew what abandonment felt like. I decided I was going to feed them, train them, and house them. One case caught my eye. A little girl, barely nine years old. Her condition had worsened. She needed immediate surgery.

He says and I sigh. "Well what else am I supposed to think of the mafia, Alessio? 'Oh, you help little old ladies cross the road and save kittens stuck in trees.' No, you don't." I say and he rolls his eyes. I might be harsh but I know I'm not wrong. "Well as a matter of fact, my guys and I help men and women who are being sex trafficked, we volunteer at children's hospitals. We donate school supplies and adhere to the needs of less fortunate kids. We have set up savings accounts for twenty-four orphanages here in Washington alone. I help teens who struggle to go through college. I volunteer at the old age homes. I take care of my sister and my dying grandmother. I don't go around killing pe

“Large grounds, plenty of rooms. Perfect for whatever enterprise you’re thinking of, Luna.” Enterprise. He made it sound like I was planning to open a casino. I lifted my chin, walking across the cracked stone path, already envisioning the laughter of children, the sound of running feet, and the light of something more than survival in their eyes. “An orphanage home,” I corrected him softly. He blinked, clearly unimpressed, and forced another smile. “Ah, yes. Of course. Noble cause.” I didn’t care what he thought. For the first time, I wasn’t here for validation. I was here to build something meaningful.

It was such an irony that the one who indirectly caused my parents' deaths was now celebrating their love story. I saw a message from Bobby. He'd sent a private text: [Bella, Audrey and I have arrived in Cranburn. It's just as beautiful as the books say. It's a shame you didn't come.] But I was never part of his life to begin with. So what was there to regret? The next couple of weeks were marked by fierce fighting. Wounded people were everywhere. Several of my coworkers were bedridden with the spreading epidemic.

he slammed the table hard. If it weren’t made from stone, it would have broken. “You need to learn patience, little brother.” He glared at me but sat back down. “The orphanage I build is only for the fallen soldier’s children. The one you will build will be for every child who lost a parent, abused by relatives and can no longer bare to stay in their home. For the ones on the streets fighting dogs for food.” I paused letting my words sink in.

The two things I longed for when I was back at the orphanage. I open my laptop to get to work. I don't have a college degree, or even High School. The Orphanage has us all homeschooled our entire lives there, but running away when I was in 11th grade meant I wasn't getting a High School Diploma. Not that that's a problem. Over time, I picked up a few online courses and learned how to do tech stuff. Any tech stuff. A very modest way of naming what I do. What I'm extremely good at doing.

Like there’s something at the bottom of this—some ache I can bury beneath designer monograms and gold clasps. At one point, I sit. Right in the middle of the showroom. Surrounded by bags and boxes and people too polite to ask if I’m okay. I open my phone. No missed call. Then, I think about all the little girls who won't have to lose themselves to become someone useful. G****e: Orphanages near me. A few clicks later, I wire five million to one with the highest debt. I don’t tell anyone. Don’t ask from Ezra. Just… do it.

"On second thought, I think I'll just keep my eye on you ... especially when Olive is around..." I love running. I always have as far back as I can remember. Of course, it was difficult to do in a lot of the places I've been. In the orphanage I was only able to run around a fairly small enclosed lot and then only every so often (I was sent to the shrink once because that's all I did with my recess; the shrink didn't understand but then shrinks never do). In the foster homes and group homes, it was better; the foster parents didn't really care what you did as long as you were out of their hair and the group homes would allow you some free time every day. The best though, other than being an a