OLIVIA’S POV

With that, Mrs. Lambert stood up from her chair, the sharp click of her heels echoing softly through the quiet office, a rhythm that oddly mirrored the pounding of my heart.

Julian and I stood up without a word. I cast a quick nce at him, and he offered me a subtle nod of encouragement. It was small, but it was everything I needed in that moment. We followed closely behind her, the silence between us filled with unspoken. thoughts and anticipation. Each step we took down the hallway felt like a step closer to something I had dreadly waited life for–answers. Closure. Truth.

And hope.

We entered another room–a much smaller onepared to her office–but it was filled wall to wall with filing cabs, a few desks, and glowingputer screens. This must be the administrative records room. The air was cooler here, and the hum of theputer servers made the atmosphere feel a little more serious, a little more real.

This was where secrets were stored. Where identities were documented.

Mrs. Lambert took a seat in front of one of theputers, her fingers moving quickly. over the keyboard, clearly familiar with the system. Julian and I took our seats on the chairs nearby, quietly observing. My hands rested tensely on my knees, and I realized I had been holding my breath the entire time.

After what felt like hours but was probably just a few minutes, Mrs. Lambert turned slightly toward me and said, “Mrs. Westwood, pleasee over here.”

My breath hitched. I stood up slowly and walked toward her. Julian remained seated, though I could feel his eyes on me, silently supporting me from afar.

“Alright,” she began, her eyes still focused on the screen, “your originalst name?”

Originalst name? I blinked,pletely thrown.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here,” I said softly, a slight quiver in my voice. “I… I don’t. know it. That’s why I came.”

She let out a low sigh, and I immediately felt my stomach drop.

“Well,” she said, adjusting her sses slightly, “that’s going to be an issue. Yourst name is what we use to separate identities. I’m sure we’ve had plenty of children. named Olivia here. Without/a surname, it’s going to be very difficult and I don’t have

that time.”

Just like that, the tiny thread of hope I had been clinging to began to unravel. I hade so far. I had taken such a r

If to believe that I was finally Sessfully unlocked! getting somewhere. And now it few ping through my fingers.

I stood there silently, my hands curling into fists at my sides, not in anger, but in frustration and helplessness.

But then, as if the universe decided to throw me a bone, she squinted at the screen and said, “Well… looks like luck’s on your side today.”

My head snapped up. “What?”

“There are only three entries under the name ‘Olivia‘ who were registered as orphans here. That’s surprisingly few. I guess I can spare a few more minutes to look into each

of them.”

I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped my lips. Relief went through me like a wave. Julian stood up and joined us, pulling out a small notepad and a pen from his pocket like he had been preparing for this all along.

He stood beside me, ready to jot down anything useful

“Olivia Ivanof. Description: Russian, redhead, six feet tall.” Mrs. Lambert read aloud, her eyes skimming the screen while her fingers hovered over the mouse. Then she paused, turning to look directly at me. I could already sense the doubt in her expression before she even said the words.

She gave me a pointed nce and added, “This clearly doesn’t fit your description.”

And she wasn’t wrong. I definitely wasn’t Russian–my dark brown curls and medium- light skin made that clear. I had never dyed my hair, And it was far from red. As for height, I could onlyugh internally. Six feet tall? I’d be lucky if I even scraped five- seven on my best day.

Mrs. Lambert clicked again, her eyes scanning the next file. “Olivia Nkutu. Desion:

ck, African.” She stopped right there, not bothering to read on. It was obvious from her tone and the quick dismissal that it didn’t match me either.

She moved on to the third and final name, and this time, her expression changed, It was small, but I saw it–the slight narrowing of her eyes, the tension in her jaw. Something about thisst file had her more focused than before.

“What is it?” I asked, stepping forward, anxiety wrapping around me. “What’s wrong?”

“Thisst Olivia… it’s the closest match to your description,” she said, sounding a bit uncertain. “But there’s one issue–there’s nost name listed.”

I blinked, confused. “What do you mean there’s nost name? How is that even possible?”

Mrs. Lambert adjusted her sses, her gaze fixed on the screen. “ording to this file, you were brought to the orphanage by a staff member. It says here you were found. wandering alone at about five years old. No identification, no guardians, and no information on where you came from. Whoever brought you inbeled you simply as Olivia‘ because that’s the name you kept repeating.”

I turned my head to look at Julian, whose eyes were with surpriseb–/bprobably mirroring my own expression. The room felt suddenly colder like the walls hade closer and the ceiling had dropped a little lower.

b2/3 /b

“So… you’re saying my parents didn’t bring me here? I wasn’t abandoned?” My voice. was barely a whisper, but every word felt heavy on my tongue.

Mrs. Lambert gave a small shake of her head. “No, you weren’t abandoned here, not in the traditional sense. You got lost. Or at least, that’s what we assume. You were found and then brought here. No one knows who your parents are, whether they’re alive or

not.”

A wave of emotions surged through me–confusion, relief, sadness. Relief that maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t been cast aside. That I wasn’t someone’s unwanted mistake. But

also heartbreak, because this meant the trail to finding my family had gone ice cold. If no one knew who my parents were… then how could I ever find them?

I pressed my palms together and took a step closer to her desk, desperation thick in my voice. “Please, Is there anything else you can check? Any clue, any detail–no matter how small. A note? An item I might’ve had with me when I was found?”

Mrs. Lambert sighed gently. “I’m sorry. But this is as far as I can go with the system. There’s nothing more here in your file.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. After all the effort, the endless questions, the hope that had slowly started to build–it all seemed to copse under the weight

a single truth: I might never know where I came from. I might never know who I really

of

was.