Richard didn’t know what he believed anymore. He just knew the hole inside him had started to point somewhere.
She led him down the hall while thunder rolled outside like distant drums.
“We have many children,” she said. “Some older. Some babies. Some come and go quickly. Some… stay longer than they should.”
They passed toddlers with wooden blocks. They looked up, curious, then returned to their game. Richard’s heart twisted anyway.
At the end of the hall, Sister Catherine paused at a door. She hesitated—just a second, like she was deciding whether the truth behind it was too heavy for a stranger. Then she opened it.
The nursery was warm and softly lit. Cribs lined one wall. Stuffed animals sat in corners. The air held that unmistakable smell of baby lotion and clean blankets. And in the far corner, nine cribs stood close together—nine tiny bundles sleeping and stirring.
Richard stepped forward, breath catching.
“They were left together,” Sister Catherine said softly. “All at once.”
“Nine?” Richard whispered, like the number couldn’t be real.
She nodded. “Nine baby girls.”
Their skin was deep brown. Their hair was soft and tight against their heads. One had a fist pressed to her cheek, another sighed in her sleep like the world was already exhausting.
