This is it.

This is where I killed the love of my life.

I was only a child then, trying to survive in a world where I was not wanted. The orphanage was dirty, the walls were molding, the food wasn’t edible, the beds were uncomfortable, and the nuns were cruel. They used to only lecture us when we misbehaved, but after the new nun arrived, Sister Chelsea, we were beaten to a bloody pulp for even the smallest of mistakes.

When it came to serving punishment, Sister Chelsea would target one girl in particular. Her name was Rosalina Jones. She was a beautiful girl. So beautiful that I had fallen deep in love. Her thoughths were only conveyed through actions, and I seemed to be the only one who truly understood them. And this made me futher drawn to her undeniable beauty. But because of this barrier, Rosalina was frequently beaten because she would look at a nun the wrong way.

On one particular Sunday, during morning prayer, there was this girl who was sick. Snot ran down her nose, her eyes puffy and red. With every cough or sneeze, Sister Chelsea would get angrier. The anger turned to fury, the fury turned to rage, and the rage turned to uncontrollable wrath. She approaches the girl, belt in hand, ready to discipline, when Rosalina stood in front if her.

“Stop it,” she had spoken. “Don’t hurt her.”

Her voice was soft like clouds, light like the gentle winds of spring. That moment was the first and only time it was heard.

Rosalina took the beating with open arms, and was almost killed.

I had cried that night. She was broken, bleeding for another on the stiff mattresses of the infirmary. Her doll was allowed to be brought with her, with its knotted hair and frilly clothes.

Then I remembered the rumors. They would spread like wildfire amongst the children. According to them, a group of orphans have made plans to escape two years ago. They successfully gained allies and managed to conduct most of their plan without getting caught. Unfortunately, a spy from their group told the nuns everything, and all exits were blocked with walls of bricks.

Those children have never been seen again.

Since then, I have realized the only way out if this prison is death.

And I knew what I had to do.

I grabbed my pillow and approached Rosalina. She was fast asleep, her long brown hair splaying out on the pillow. The way she rested so peacefully was almost angelic in a way, despite the harsh conditions surrounding her. When I reached her bedside, her eyes fluttered open, greeting me with their innocence.

“It’s okay, Rosalina,” I reassured her. “It’s just me. Close your eyes and your pain will be over.”

I planted a quick kiss on her forehead, watched her eyelids flutter closed, before taking the pillow and suffocating her. As she flailed her arms, I tried so hard not to break.

“Rosalina, stop this,” I pleaded, “I’m doing this to save you.”

Her screams were muffled. My arms pushed the pillow harder against her to at least try and make her death faster. Tears stung my eyes.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay,” I told myself. Rosalina was no longer struggling. Her arms drooped over the bedsides, hanging like wilting flowers. She remained as the first child to ever escape the orphanage.

Until I managed to frame the nuns of this wreched place.

Now, dozens of children are living better lives, experiencing the luxuries they once thought as mere myths. They are loved, cared for, and have forgotten the tragic childhoods they were forced to live through.

Except for me.

Because I will never forget the silent orphan.