She shook her head. “No. It’s the one I want someday. With big windows so I can see the stars.”
My throat tightened. “That sounds perfect.”
She studied me for a moment. “What’s your name?”
“I’m…” I hesitated, then smiled. “You can call me whatever feels right.”
“I’m Lila,” she said.
Mrs. Patterson appeared beside me, her voice low. “She’s been with us about a year now. Bounced through a few foster homes before that. When her illness returned, the families… well, they couldn’t handle it.”
I looked at her sharply. “Her illness?”
Mrs. Patterson’s face softened with sympathy. “Leukemia. Diagnosed at five, went into remission, but it came back last spring. She’s stable right now, but she needs ongoing treatment. It’s a lot for most families to take on.”
I turned back to Lila, still coloring her imaginary house. She hummed quietly to herself, lost in her own little world.
“Do you think…” Lila’s voice was so small I almost missed it. “Do you think anyone would want me? Even if I get sick again?”
The question shattered something inside me.
I reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Sweetheart, I think someone already does.”
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