Mariane could feel the change in the air. It wasn't just the whispers of the staff or the hushed conversations she overheard late at night, it was the way the orphanage itself seemed to be different — heavier. The once calm and comforting atmosphere of daily life now felt laden with a sense of unease. It wasn't the usual bustle of play, learning, and laughter that defined the days. The children, young and old, seemed to be aware of something, but no one said anything outright. It was as if the orphanage itself was holding its breath, waiting for something unknown to happen.
Every morning, when Mariane woke up, she was overcome with a sense of nervous anticipation, a gnawing feeling she couldn't shake. The routines of the orphanage continued, of course — the lessons, the games in the garden, the shared meals — but everything felt different. Something was coming. Mariane couldn't explain it, but she could sense it deep within her.
There was one particular conversation that had caught her attention a few days earlier. She had overheard a discussion between Dona Helena and Maria Clara in the staff room. "We need to prepare them for what comes next," Dona Helena had said, her voice tight with worry. "But it's so hard to think about Mariane leaving," Maria Clara had replied, her tone heavy with concern. The words had stuck with Mariane. The thought of leaving the orphanage — of leaving the only family she had ever known — felt unimaginable. What did this mean? And why was it so hard for them to think about her leaving?
Mariane tried to push the thoughts aside. There was schoolwork to be done, games to be played, and friends to be spent time with. But the questions lingered, twisting in her mind like vines that refused to let go. The orphanage had always been her home. Dona Helena had always been there for her, and the staff had shown her so much care and love. Could she really be expected to leave all of this behind one day? The idea terrified her.
As days passed, Mariane began to notice the subtle changes around her. The older children — those approaching the age of 12, the age when many children would leave the orphanage to be placed with foster families or adopted — were being called in for private meetings more often. Some of them were still playing, but there was a visible tension in their posture, a sense that their time here was running out. They had already been taught how to manage their emotions, how to be grateful for the love they had received in this place, but it was clear that leaving was something none of them were ready for.
The younger children, like Mariane, remained mostly unaware of what was to come, but the atmosphere in the orphanage had undeniably changed. The older children no longer played as freely as they once had. They seemed quieter, more introspective, and often retreated to corners of the building to be alone. The staff seemed more distant, preoccupied with something Mariane couldn't yet understand.
She could see the way the adults moved around them, like they were preparing for something. Dona Helena, once warm and always ready to listen to any of the children's problems, had become more somber. Mariane would catch her looking at the children with a distant gaze, as if weighing something in her mind. Maria Clara, who had always been gentle and kind, was now quieter too, as if the burden of the orphanage's future was becoming too heavy for her to bear alone.
One evening, while the children were finishing their dinner, the tension in the air was almost palpable. The staff exchanged quiet glances, and the older children seemed to sense that something was happening — something beyond their understanding, but something that was coming for them all.
Mariane tried to focus on the routine. She threw herself into her studies with the same enthusiasm she always had. She loved learning, and every day was an opportunity to absorb more knowledge, especially from books. She became particularly enamoured with *The Secret Garden*, a novel about a lonely girl who discovers a hidden, magical garden that she learns to nurture and, in turn, transforms her life. Mariane related to the story more than she ever expected. The orphanage was her garden, and although she wasn't sure what would happen in the future, she felt like, somehow, the love and care she had received here had nurtured her in the same way that the garden had nurtured the girl in the story.
But the looming uncertainty never left her. She overheard another conversation between the adults. This time, it was between Dona Helena and a man she had never seen before. He was dressed in a dark suit, and he spoke with Dona Helena outside the main entrance. Mariane couldn't hear what they were discussing, but she could tell from the way they spoke that it was important. Dona Helena's usual calm was replaced by a sense of urgency, and the man, though friendly, had a look of deep concern. Their conversation was short, but Mariane's heart raced as she tried to understand what was happening. Why was Dona Helena so distressed?
The man left after a few minutes, disappearing into the rain that had started to fall. Dona Helena remained standing for a moment, staring at the spot where he had stood. Mariane watched her, her mind racing. What was going on? Who was the man, and why had he spoken to Dona Helena in such a serious manner?
When Dona Helena finally returned inside, her face was clouded with a mix of emotions, but she said nothing to the children. She simply carried on with the evening as though nothing had happened. But Mariane couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted.
As the days passed, the quiet unease in the orphanage grew. The children, who had always been a lively and rambunctious bunch, seemed more subdued. Some of the older ones began to act out, rebelling in small, subtle ways — pushing each other on the playground, refusing to do their chores, acting out in class. It wasn't much, but Mariane could feel the change in the air. The children knew something was off. They just didn't know what.
One afternoon, after a particularly tense argument between two of the older children, Mariane found herself standing in the corner of the garden, staring into the distance. She wanted to understand. She wanted to know what was going to happen. Would she be like the others, one day leaving for a family that might not care for her as much as the orphanage staff did? Or was there another future for her, one that she hadn't yet imagined?
Later that evening, as she lay in bed, the weight of everything she had observed hung heavy on her chest. The questions swirled around her like a storm, and the sense that something was coming — something important, something that would change everything — consumed her thoughts. She couldn't bear to wait any longer. She needed to know what was going on.
The future that had once seemed so far away now felt so close, almost within reach. She could feel it in her bones, in the way the staff looked at her, in the way the children had started to act. Something was happening, and she couldn't pretend it wasn't.
That night, when everyone had settled into their rooms, Mariane crept out of bed. She moved quietly through the dark halls of the orphanage, her heart pounding in her chest. She needed answers. She had to find out what the adults weren't telling them.