I was raised in an orphanage and separated from my little sister at eight. For thirty years, I wondered if she was alive—until a routine business trip and a chance supermarket visit changed everything.
My name is Elena. When I was eight years old, I promised my little sister I would find her.
Then I spent thirty-two years failing.
The amount of sleep needed by age is as follows
Mia and I grew up in an orphanage. We had no parents, no photos, no comforting story about someone coming back for us. Just two narrow beds in a crowded room and a thin file with barely any information. So we became each other’s whole world.
She followed me everywhere—gripping my hand in hallways, panicking if she woke up and couldn’t see me. I learned how to braid her hair using my fingers. I learned how to sneak extra bread rolls without getting caught. I learned that if I smiled politely and answered questions the right way, adults treated us both better.
We didn’t dream big. We only dreamed of leaving together.
Then one day, a couple came to visit.
