# Chapter 34: The Ghosts of the Orphanage
Hello everyone, it's me again! How are you all doing today? I hope you're ready for another gripping turn of the story, because Chapter 34 is one of those emotional rides that leaves you breathless, heartbroken, and hungry for answers. In this chapter, we find Natalia in a strange, restless state of mind. She has been wrestling with the letter, wondering if there was more to her past than she ever dared to imagine. And now, on a sudden, foolish impulse, she decides to go back to the place where her story began. So grab a warm cup of tea, let your worries drift away, and let's dive together into the haunting echoes of "The Girl They Left Behind."
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For months, Natalia had been sinking into self-pity, feeling trapped by the weight of her life. But somewhere deep inside, a spark of defiance ignited. She refused to give up her piano. Jazz had stolen her heart years ago, and even though the authorities had banned it from public performance, she knew, with a kind of thrilled certainty, that the music was still alive in secret, underground circles. It was a reckless dream—risky, even dangerous—but she decided that if she practiced enough, if she truly committed herself, maybe one day she could find a place in that hidden world. In the meantime, she could earn a little money by giving lessons. There were always other paths, other avenues, as long as she refused to quit.
Yet the letter refused to leave her mind. It gnawed at her like an old wound that would not heal. She wondered, over and over: were there other letters? Had someone tried to find her more than once? After 1945, when Romania had been cut off from the West, any correspondence would have been impossible. The chain, if it had ever existed, would have been severed there. But what if that wasn't true? She remembered the many times she had wanted to ask her uncle Stefan about the circumstances of her adoption, and now she regretted never doing it. But would it have changed anything? Stefan was loyal to her parents beyond reason. Whatever he knew, he would take to his grave. Nothing could ever break that bond of silence.
And so, she realized, if there was anything more to know, there was only one road left: she would have to return to the place where it all began.
Later that afternoon, on the trolley, Natalia still could hardly believe her own impulsiveness. She had simply hopped on at the last moment, without a clear plan, without even knowing what she hoped to find. She rode standing, clutching the metal pole as the city drifted past her in a blur of sun-scorched parks and soot-stained facades. Thirteen years. Thirteen long years had passed since she had last seen the inside of that place. Thirteen years in a completely different life—a life before food lines and rationed electricity.
Once, just after the war, she had ridden past the orphanage by chance. Buses weren't running regularly then, so her mother had taken a cab somewhere. Natalia remembered her mother talking to the driver about the interminable winter, about a bomb that had left a gaping hole in the center of town. And then, suddenly, her mother had fallen silent. Natalia looked up from the book on her lap and followed her mother's gaze. There, under the metal scaffolding, the place holding her earliest memories lay decaying and broken.
"Remember, Talia?" her mother had whispered softly as the building shrank in the rear window.
Of course she remembered. She didn't think it possible to ever forget those faces—dirty, desolate children crying in the late-night hours; lice-infested uniforms; a musty courtyard that always smelled of garbage; that thin, watery soup served daily. But she said nothing. She shrugged, trying to look indifferent, hoping her disinterest would keep her mother from wanting to talk about it. They never spoke of it again. Surely, Natalia thought now, cab drivers in the future had been instructed to avoid that particular street, no matter how much the detour raised the fare.
At the next stop, she decided to get off. It wasn't the closest station to the orphanage, but she needed to walk, to gather the scattered pieces of her courage. As she walked, her thoughts returned to the question that had driven her here—the question she had never been able to answer. *Why had the people who gave her life chosen to live a life without her?* In the past, she could always summon convenient excuses. They were young, perhaps hungry, too burdened to be parents. She pictured them as drifters, moving from flat to flat, destitute and struggling, barely surviving. Maybe she had been a mistake, an unfortunate accident. Maybe they had done their best before giving up. It had been easy not to think about them. Until the letter. Until now. Now, of her own will, she was the one chasing ghosts.
At the intersection, she studied the street sign, turned the corner, and felt her pulse quicken. Pedestrians rushed past, heads down, hands buried deep in their pockets, completely unaware that she was walking so slowly that twenty minutes passed before she reached the end of the block. When at last she stood before her destination and looked up, she was surprised to see that the building looked almost exactly as she remembered. The metal scaffolding was gone. The dark blue placard reading *Saint Paul's Orphanage* was also gone. But otherwise, the building appeared unaltered.
Timidly, she stepped through the wood-framed gate, expecting to face a flood of children. But the courtyard was empty. Silent. She had come late and unannounced—and now it seemed utterly absurd that she was here at all. What had she expected? That the orphanage director would invite her in and hand over a sealed file? A file her parents had likely paid a great deal of money to bury?
She turned to leave, nearly reaching the gate, when a door clicked open behind her and a slant of light fell across her eyes. In the bleak glow, a military officer marched toward her, frowning as he adjusted the brim of his cap. For a terrifying moment, she thought he was coming for her, ready to interrogate her about why she was loitering. But he hurried past without a single glance. The front gate slammed shut. Natalia pressed herself against the wall, hiding in the shadows, and noticed that the entrance to the main building had been left ajar. She waited five minutes. Then, quietly, she slipped inside.
The hallway, like the exterior, was eerily unchanged: chipped pale-green walls, the sharp smell of ammonia, and checkered linoleum that squeaked beneath her hesitant steps. As she made her way toward the director's office—or what she vaguely remembered as the director's office—she tried to rehearse her words. How could she explain why she had come? Would the old woman recognize her after all these years? She stopped before the door, took a breath, and before she could lose her nerve, pressed down on the handle and entered.
For a moment, her eyes wandered in confusion. The old peeling desk of Mrs. Tudor was gone. In its place stood an enormous rectangular table, surrounded by a dozen or more men in military uniforms. Clipboards and files were scattered across the surface, and in the center sat a tape recorder next to a half-filled water carafe.
"I—I'm so sorry," Natalia stammered as twelve pairs of eyes snapped up in unison. "I must be in the wrong room. I must be…" She stepped backward. "Please excuse me."
One of the men—an elderly officer whose chest glittered with decorations—swiveled his chair around to face her. In the harsh artificial light, his white hair looked almost silver, as did his neatly trimmed beard. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully while his cold blue eyes bore into her like she was some rare insect he was debating whether to crush or release.
"Young lady, what are you doing here?" he demanded after a moment.
"Excuse me, sir," Natalia repeated in a fluster. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just… I was looking for Mrs. Tudor, the director of the orphanage. I'm sorry to have barged in."
"Orphanage? What orphanage?"
The officer to his right cleared his throat. "Yes, General, she is right. There was an orphanage here, before the war. Part of the building was destroyed in the bombing. The wing that housed the children's dormitory and kitchen, to be exact. And the archive room, too, plus a couple of the classrooms."
"So what is it that you want?" the general addressed her again, his voice flat.
*What happened to the children? Where are the children?* she wanted to scream. *Where are the nuns, the cook, the teachers?* But she only stood there, frozen, as dread seeped through her like ice water.
"I was one of the children here," she mumbled, so softly that the officer cupped a hand around his ear.
"What's that?"
"Before the war, I was one of the children here. I was one of the orphans who lived here for a little while."
"Well, this is a government building now," he said with chilling detachment. "We do not know anything about the orphanage. And you are trespassing on an official meeting."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for disturbing."
And then she was running. She turned and ran as fast as her legs could carry her down the corridor, through the courtyard that had once been her playground, not looking back, not bothering to shut the gate behind her. She ran down the street and farther still until a sharp jab in her side forced her to stop. Leaning against a wall, gasping for breath, she looked up at the darkening sky and thought of the children. *The children.*
It wasn't until much later, when she retraced her way back to the bus stop, that she was able to dry her eyes. Whatever traces of her past had survived, whatever secrets had once been confined within those walls—they had gone up in flames along with the orphanage. The thread ended there. It was severed for good. Right before turning the corner, she glanced back one last time at the building that had briefly been her home. She studied it for a few moments, trying to imprint it in her memory. She knew she would never see it again.
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When Natalia returned home that evening, dinner was waiting—a roasted chicken, plump and golden, so tender that she let out an involuntary gasp as the first bite melted on her tongue. These were rare feasts. On the rare days when her mother managed to get a fresh bird, the first supper was always something special, followed by days of carefully crafted leftovers, ending eventually with soup made from the carcass. But the first meal was always a treat, and Natalia hated to spoil it with unpleasant news.
"Someone was here asking for you today," she announced as she dove eagerly into the plate.
"Did he leave a name?" her father asked.
"He said he was a city inspector. He was conducting a census and wanted to know how many people live in our home. I told him he would have to come back when you were home."
Her father looked up, and she thought she saw his face pale a little.
"Natalia, you know you are never to answer any questions about our family. You cannot—"
"Yes, Papa, I know. I asked him to leave. He said he would come back another time."
A tense silence passed. Her father nodded slowly, then took a few more bites before putting his fork down.
"I had my biggest order in years today," he said, trying to brighten his features. "Someone came into the store and bought ten thousand sheets of premium envelopes, just like that. I helped him carry the boxes out, helped to load them into the back of his car."
Despina's eyes rose from her own plate, wide with surprise. "So who was he, Anton?"
The question hung in the air like a shadow, and the chapter ends there, leaving us to wonder what dark trouble is creeping closer to Natalia's fragile little family.
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*Reader's Impressions & Star Rating:*
This chapter pierced my heart. Watching Natalia walk through the ruins of her childhood—literally and figuratively—fills the reader with a quiet, aching sorrow. She went looking for answers, for any shred of connection to the parents who gave her away, only to find nothing but ash and dust. The scene in the general's office is so tense and chilling; you can feel her humiliation, her helplessness, and the cruel finality of the loss. And then to come home to the terrifying news of a "city inspector" who asks too many questions—everything in this story is tightening like a noose. The author's prose is vivid and emotionally resonant, and I found myself holding my breath more than once. This chapter deserves a strong rating.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.9 / 5 Stars
*Next Chapter Prediction:*
I predict that the mysterious "city inspector" is no ordinary bureaucrat. Given the father's sudden large order of premium envelopes and the suspicious question at the end, I suspect he may be someone connected to Natalia's true parentage—perhaps in a dangerous way. Or Despina will reveal a secret she's kept hidden, forcing the family to confront the past right at the moment they most need to disappear. Either way, danger is circling closer, and Natalia's courage will soon be tested beyond anything she imagined.
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