"That was over a decade ago now." The old director thought for a moment before she remembered. "Oh, that day… there was a mischievous little boy—the chubby one who always got into fights. He locked the storage room door as a prank, but I reprimanded him for it later."
Hearing the old director's words, Yvonne Sloan froze. The deep-seated obsession she had clung to for so long began to crumble, piece by piece.
The old director paused, then continued, "Fate works in strange ways, doesn't it? You begged the Lowells to adopt that Sloan girl, too. If she hadn't been locked in the storage room that day, Yvonne Sloan would probably be a daughter of the Lowell Family right now."
"Thank you, Director. I'll come visit the orphanage when I have time. I'll let you get back to your rest."
"Alright, alright."
After hanging up, Yvonne Sloan let out a sudden, grief-stricken shriek—the kind of raw, desperate cry born from absolute despair.
