𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔

𝟯𝟮. 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗛𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗛𝗲𝗿?

Chapter Thirty-Two: How Could He Hate Her?

How could he hate her when he was the one who chose her? He remembers it vividly. He was 11 years old at the time when his school planned a field trip to the orphanage. All the kids from his school had a gift in their hands to give to the kids there.

As they stepped off the bus, he felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. It was his first time visiting an orphanage, and he didn't know what to expect. Walking through the doors, he was greeted by a chorus of laughter and chatter from the children who lived there. They were playing games and chatting amongst themselves, seemingly unaware of the visitors entering their world.

He looked around, clutching the small gift he had brought tightly in his hand. It was a simple toy car, something he had picked out himself at the store. He hoped it would bring a smile to someone's face.

As he sat there, a few kids approached, chatting amongst themselves. But before he could offer his gift, he noticed they already had presents, likely given by his classmates. He looked down at the toy car in his hand, scanning the room for someone who hadn't received anything yet.

His gaze landed on the baby ward down the hall, where newborns to one-year-olds were kept. There was only one guard stationed outside, who appeared to be asleep with his chin resting on a stick.

He didn't understand why, but he felt a powerful tug towards the ward as if someone inside was calling out to him with all their heart. Glancing around at his classmates and teachers, who seemed engaged in conversations and activities, he quietly slipped away from the room and began walking towards the baby ward.

He stepped into the room filled with cradles, each holding a sleeping baby. A pang of sadness washed over him as he looked at the innocent faces. He felt sad looking at the babies, seemingly unaware that they had no one to call their own in this world.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden giggle from the end of the room. He tilted his head to locate the source of the sound and found the only baby awake in the room, waddling its little body up and down, gazing at him with wide eyes. It seemed as if the baby was urging him to come closer. With cautious steps, he approached the baby.

As he drew nearer, the baby's face broke into a toothless grin, its chubby arms reaching out towards him. Gently, he crouched down beside the cradle, extending his hand towards the baby. The baby's fingers wrapped around his, tiny and delicate yet surprisingly strong.

He glanced around to make sure nobody was nearby, fearing he might get scolded for picking up the baby without permission.

With a tender smile, he carefully lifted the baby into his arms, cradling it gently. The baby let out a contented coo, nuzzling against his chest. At that moment, as he held the tiny, vulnerable life in his arms, he felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him.

With a soft smile, he whispered, "You're exactly like the poem says, 'Chubby cheeks, rosy lips, and a dimple smile.'" Chuckling softly, he watched as the baby chuckled too, extending tiny fingers to poke at his eyes.

Laughing gently at the baby's playful gesture, he carefully moved the tiny hand away from his eyes, still cradling the baby close. "You've got quite the grip there, little one," he remarked with a fond smile.

In that one hour, he made some of the fastest decisions of his life. He was so sure he wanted to have this baby as a sibling and never wanted to leave the cocoon of cuteness. But sadly, he had to that day when his teacher called every student to assemble towards the bus.

Kissing the baby's cheek, he promised he would come back soon. Placing the toy car in the cradle, he leaned down one more time to kiss its forehead. The baby, too, had a pout and tears in its eyes as this boy was leaving.