The snow is deep enough to swallow my feet. I watch as my shoes disappear with each step, leaving behind prints that get softer and smaller the farther I walk. Soon, the wind will come and brush them away.

  Like I was never here.

  I don’t know why that thought bothers me. It shouldn’t.

  Ahead, a man and a woman stand. My new parents. They look like they belong in one of those fancy stores we aren’t allowed to touch anything in. The man is round and soft-looking, like a stuffed teddy bear that always laughs. He’s already smiling, even though I haven’t done anything funny. His hands are shoved into his coat pockets, but I can tell he wants to reach out, to ruffle my hair or pat my shoulder.

  The woman beside him is different. She’s tall and straight-backed, wearing a coat that matches her shoes and gloves, like she planned this outfit for months. Her hair is perfect, not a strand out of place, and her makeup looks painted on. She smiles, but it’s small and thin, and when she thinks no one is looking, I see the corners of her lips fall into a frown.

  I notice things like that.

  People think kids don’t pay attention, but they do. They just don’t say anything.

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  I don’t wave. I don’t smile. My hands stay buried deep in my sleeves, where they are safe and warm.

  Behind me, the orphanage door creaks, and for a second, I think—Zett?

  But no. Just Cherry, watching from the steps, her arms crossed tight. I think she wants to say something, but she doesn’t.

  She shifts, unfolds her arms just enough to wave—just once, quick, like she’s afraid I won’t see it. But I do.

  The wind howls, snow swirling, and then—the door closes.

  I turn back to my new parents.

  The man—no, Father—steps forward first. “Revilsa, isn’t it? I’m Daniel.” His voice is warm, and he bends down a little, like he’s trying to make himself smaller for me. “And this is my wife, Claudette.”

  The woman—Mother—nods. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Her voice is careful. Not mean. But not excited either.

  I nod, because I don’t know what else to do.

  Father doesn’t seem to mind the quiet. He claps his hands together, making the cold air snap. “Well! We better get you in the car before we all freeze solid, eh?” He laughs like he just told the funniest joke in the world.

  I don’t laugh.

  I look back one more time.

  The orphanage windows stare back at me, empty and still. Somewhere inside, my bed is already being stripped, my spot at the table already being filled, my things already being picked apart by the others. That’s how it works.

  I take a step toward the car. Then another. The orphanage gets smaller, but I don’t feel any bigger. My footprints stretch behind me. I don’t need to look at them, I already know what happens next.

  The wind will come. And soon, they will fade.

  What do you think Revilsa is feeling?