Chapter 4 - The Sixth Birthday
Sister Beatrice’s lantern wobbled in her hand. Her pale, wrinkled face filled with a sudden, overwhelming mixture of shock, relief, and deep sorrow.
"Victoria’s stepson..." she whispered, her eyes brimming with sudden tears. "Dear God above... you finally came."
"You knew?" Julian asked, his voice tightening.
"I didn't know everything, Mr. Hail," Sister Beatrice said, stepping aside to let us into the warm, quiet foyer of the orphanage. The room smelled of old paper, beeswax candles, and lemon oil. "Six years ago, a woman came here in the dead of night, bleeding and terrified. She brought a newborn child. She gave me a sealed envelope and five hundred thousand dollars in cash for the child's care, begging me to hide him under a fake name until someone from the Hail family came with the key."
"What key?" Julian asked.
Sister Beatrice reached into her habit, pulling out a small, silver key attached to a worn leather strap. "She said the key belonged to a private deposit box at the Manhattan Central Bank. She said only her true family would ever come looking for Toby with love in their hearts, instead of greed."
Julian looked at the key, then reached into his suit pocket. He pulled out a matching silver signet ring—his father's ring, which had the exact same crest engraved on the face.
Sister Beatrice let out a soft sob, covering her mouth. "It's you. Thank God. Oh, thank God."
"Where is he?" Julian asked gently.
"In the second-floor dormitory," Sister Beatrice said, wiping her eyes. "Those terrible men from the law firm arrived an hour ago. They forced me to pack his little bag. He’s sitting upstairs alone, crying... he doesn't want to leave."
Julian looked at me. "Lead the way, Elena."
We walked up the wide, creaking wooden staircase to the second floor. The hallway was long, lined with closed doors, illuminated only by dim nightlights. Sister Beatrice stopped outside a door marked Dormitory 3 and pushed it open gently.
Inside, sitting on the edge of a small iron cot in a room filled with empty beds, was a little boy.
He was tiny, wearing a navy sweater that was two sizes too big for him, his dark, wavy hair messy from sleep. He held a faded, ratty blue blanket against his chest, his shoulders shaking with quiet, silent sobs. Beside his feet sat a single, small canvas backpack.
My heart shattered into a million pieces.
"Toby," I called out softly, stepping into the room.
The boy whipped his head around. His face was streaked with tear tracks, but his dark, honey-colored eyes—the exact same eyes as Julian’s—widened when he saw me.
"Elena?" he sniffled, his voice tiny and broken. "Are... are you here to take me to the playground?"
"No, sweetie," I said, dropping to my knees beside his bed. "I'm here with a friend."
Julian stepped into the room.
The tall, powerful billionaire, who commanded thousands of employees and dictated financial markets, stood in the doorway of the tiny orphanage room, looking utterly paralyzed. He stared at the little boy—at his own blood, his stepmother's son, the child who had been condemned to darkness for six long years.
Toby looked up at Julian, shrinking back slightly against the pillows. "Who are you? Are you the man taking me away?"
Julian didn't answer right away. He slowly walked across the room, his heavy boots making no sound on the wooden floor. He stopped in front of the cot, dropped down on both knees, and set the large, wrapped gift box on the bed beside Toby.
"No, Toby," Julian said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it before, trembling with raw, unrestrained emotion. "I'm not taking you away. I'm taking you home."
Toby looked at the gift box, then looked at Julian. "Is... is that for me?"
"Happy sixth birthday, Toby," Julian whispered.
Toby’s small hands reached out, carefully pulling the silk ribbon off the box. He lifted the lid and looked inside.
When he saw the soft brown stuffed dog with the floppy ears and the bright red collar, his jaw dropped in pure, unadulterated awe. He reached into the box, pulling the plush toy against his chest, burying his small face in its fur.
"A dog..." Toby breathed, his eyes shining with sudden, incredible joy. "A brown dog... just like Brown Dog down in the playroom!"
"Ivy told me you needed a toy friend," Julian said, a warm, genuine smile breaking across his face as a single tear escaped his eye, tracing a path down his cheek. "She said you couldn't leave without one."
Toby looked at Julian, then looked at the stuffed dog. "Ivy? My friend Ivy?"
"Yes," Julian nodded. "And my name is Julian. I'm... I'm your older brother, Toby."
Toby blinked, confused. "Brother? Like... like family?"
"Yes," Julian said, reaching out with a trembling hand to gently touch the boy's cheek. "Like family. And nobody is ever going to hurt you, hide you, or make you cry ever again. I promise you."
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Toby stared into Julian’s steel-blue eyes for three long seconds. Then, without a word, the little six-year-old boy let go of his old blanket, threw his small arms around Julian's neck, and buried his face into the billionaire's heavy cashmere coat.
Julian froze for a fraction of a second. Then, he wrapped both arms tightly around his little brother, holding him against his chest, resting his chin on the boy's dark hair, closing his eyes as heavy, silent tears finally fell.
