Approaching the imposing iron door, I couldn't help but feel the weight of history in the cold, unyielding surface. With a firm grip on the rugged handle, I pulled it towards me. The door groaned in protest, its hinges expressing the passage of time with each inch it moved.
As the door slowly swung open, it revealed a room filled with unfamiliar faces. The echoing creak of the iron reverberated through the chamber, creating an eerie sense of anticipation.
Before me, they all sat in front of a long rectangular wooden table, facing a blank projection on the wall, its dim white light casting a subtle glow.
And then, there she was, the girl I had taken in, Samantha—Sam. She stood up, her eyes teary, her face flushed as she ran to me and hugged me tightly, a gesture I hadn't expected to be so strong.
