***Another state began. My vision started to clear. Some of what I had lived in the past might return. I was a witness back then at a young age, but today, I might be a victim. The manifestations of panic, and the shiver of an unknown fate, are what rule our destinies here. The older we grow, the more we realize that what we're living is not life, but a bitter waiting period for inevitable extinction, or perhaps for a reckless act—by us or by others.
I felt I no longer felt anything. My passion, my ambition, began to fade. Should I return to my solitude as I once did? I only want one thing: to leave. Not just this place, but everything I know.
I didn't know what had happened there, but after a while, Magda came back and opened the door for us. She stood before us, as usual, heavy in presence, with cold eyes. She asked us to leave the room and told us we'd be receiving some guests tomorrow, then allowed us to go. But the sight of Madame Mir holding Szymon outside the restaurant caught my attention.
He told her, in a voice that seemed drained, that he didn't know where the children had gone, and that he was lying in bed, feeling unwell. But that didn't earn him any sympathy. She slapped him. He seemed indifferent and was ordered to stand barefoot at the door for hours. Then she took him away, and he did not return.
That evening, I discovered there was another entrance to the orphanage—different from the one in the restaurant. As for Filip, he suddenly seemed like a stone statue. He was frighteningly focused, as if afraid that any word might betray him. He said he was tired, and Magda allowed him to sleep in their room. Doubt crept into me about him—or maybe my imagination was playing its tricks.
There was no chance to ask him, even if he got angry or complained about me to Magda.
When Szymon returned, we learned that Madame Mir had sent him to work at a fruit farm. He didn't seem affected. In fact, he smirked and said:
"I ate enough fruit to feed me for a week, and even brought some back… but that wicked Mir didn't give me a chance to keep them."
I watched him in silence. He looked tired, but there was something different in his eyes. He seemed happy.
For a moment, the thought of escape crossed my mind. Could the world beyond these walls be as kind as I imagined? Could I find gentle people out there—like the man at the farm?
***Night fell, and we gathered in secret. Zuzanna spoke first, then Lina, and finally it was Szymon's turn. As for me, I didn't say anything. I no longer wanted more… Then, Szymon revealed what he had heard and tried to explain Filip's deadly silence. I avoided his eyes, but he was focused on mine. When the meeting ended, he asked me to stay.
It was clear I would refuse, so he added, "I need to explain more."
Zuzanna noticed and said, "You two, this isn't the right time for a fight."
Szymon smiled at her and said, "Don't worry," while my face remained blank.
He asked me calmly, "What is it?"
I looked at him emptily and said, "Nothing, I'm just tired."
He replied, "Come on, if you want to know more, I'm ready."
I sighed deeply and said, "I'm just thinking… Could what happened to Jan that day be connected to the three boys?"—I meant the man in the orange coat—then added:
"Could you recognize that person?"
His eyes widened, and he said, "Why now?"
I said, "There's no more time. I feel something worse is coming, and I don't ignore my gut feeling."
He replied, "Unfortunately, nothing… just that he seemed left-handed."
I said, "Good. Anything else?"
He shook his head.
I needed to tell him what I hadn't dared say in front of the others. He said in a tired voice:
"I knew you'd ask me more."
I nodded, then whispered:
"That man… he was injured. That day…"
He looked at me, surprised, so I continued:
"His hand… He must've lost one of his fingers."
His eyes widened in uneasy shock.
"Are you sure?"
I answered, recalling the scene in my mind:
"Yes. I don't know if the wound was old or recent, but the cloth wrapped around his hand was soaked in blood."
Silence fell between us, then he murmured:
"That's why he looked furious that day… Maybe someone resisted him… Maybe he was trying to get rid of someone."
His reasoning seemed logical, but no one knew the truth yet.
I said, "We have to be careful tomorrow. One of the guests might be a man with four fingers."
Szymon remembered the two men who visited the orphanage that day and asked me if I had noticed their hands. I recalled the scene… Roch was wearing gloves, so I hadn't focused on him. As for the other… I couldn't even see his face.
Szymon said confidently, "No, I don't think it's Roch. He wouldn't appear that easily." Then he added,
"Now, we're done with the serious questions. Will you tell me why you've been avoiding me?"
I answered firmly, "Nothing. I'm just tired."
I left.
I didn't tell him that I wanted to leave.
I didn't tell him that he disappointed me.
I didn't tell him that I prayed to be adopted soon.
And I didn't tell him that what he said about that day didn't frighten me—because what I witnessed… was even more savage.
When the sun rose the next morning, the children seemed more lively than usual. Conversations floated through the air, full of curiosity and speculations about what would happen when the guests arrived. Would they bring food and gifts? No one knew who was coming, but everyone was excited.
That morning, we were all given clean clothes—something rare—and asked to clean the orphanage.
The orders themselves weren't strange, but the way they were given made me feel like there was more going on than just an ordinary visit.
Time passed slowly—long hours of waiting—until evening crept in, and still, there was no sign of any guest.
We waited, filled with confusion. I saw the disappointment and sadness in the little children's eyes. Sleep overtook them after the long wait, and their struggle to stay awake was almost funny.
Meanwhile, the sounds of celebration from the village reached us from afar, as if coming from another world we didn't belong to.
I heard scattered bursts of laughter, fragmented music—then suddenly, fireworks thundered, painting the sky with flashing lights.
But they weren't for us… they were out there, far away, where we were not allowed to go.
***At last, as night fell, a car arrived. Its engine came to a halt, and a strange man stepped out. He knocked on the door forcefully. Moments passed before Madame Magda opened it. They exchanged a brief conversation, then he extended his hand and gave her an invitation card. We watched as she hurried inside, grabbed her handbag without hesitation—as if she had been ready all along—and left without saying a single word to us.
A few minutes of silence passed before Madame Mir exploded. I had never seen her so furious. Later, Zuzanna whispered to us that her anger was because the invitation was addressed to Magda alone, excluding her. She was yelling and threatening, her features twisted by a mix of jealousy and bitterness. We learned the celebration was organized by the village official, and that everyone had been invited—everyone except us.
"Our night became like our day, with no difference but the darkness that cloaked the place. The children sat quietly, the excitement fading from their faces, replaced by disappointment. None of us dared to provoke Mir further, for fear of becoming the target of her wrath. We remained in our places, silent, as if part of the emptiness itself. I lay down, straining to hear the distant echoes of the celebrations—sounds that crept toward us like forbidden memories. The younger children cried. Their crying irritated me, but they were just children... They had only known the absence of joy, while we had grown used to missing out on happiness."
As always, Zuzana tried to calm the children. She brought out an old tale about the "Wianki" festival, held on the night of June 23rd and 24th. The children gathered around her, the candlelight illuminating their little faces. Even I, pretending not to care, drew closer to listen. Zuzanna had always dreamed of becoming a teacher, and it was clear how much she enjoyed storytelling. Her delivery was captivating, and her words touched something hidden deep inside me.
I hadn't heard much about this day before. In the old orphanage, we never celebrated such events—we only marked religious holidays. As I listened, entranced, I heard someone calling me, but I ignored it until I felt a light tap on my head. I turned around in irritation to find Szymon standing there. I frowned at him:
— "What?"
He gestured for me to come outside, and I followed, grumbling:
— "You've ruined my moment. What is it?"
He spoke in a hushed voice:
— "I thought it was the right time to return the picture to madame Magda's office."
I furrowed my brow:
— "Why should you return it? It's mine."
He raised his eyebrows and exhaled sharply:
— "It's a worthless trophy, you fool!"
The office was locked, so Szymon suggested sneaking in through the window. I warned him that it was risky, as everyone was still awake. He thought for a moment, then murmured:
— "So… should I wait until later?"
I nodded and said I'd return to listen to Zuzanna. But Szymon wouldn't leave me alone. He walked beside me, grinning slyly:
— "Did you like the story? Or did you like listening to Zuzanna?"
I gave him a sarcastic look and kept walking without answering. He caught up and suddenly whispered:
— "We could go to the village tonight. What do you think?"
I looked at him in silence. The village no longer held any charm for me. I shook my head:
— "I don't want to."
But his next words sparked my curiosity:
— "You know… we could both make a wish at the same time."
I turned to him, surprised. Was that really possible? He continued:
— "Zuzanna said that if we send our flower wreaths down the river, we might have a better future."
It felt strange. If such things were possible, then surely we deserved them the most. God knows the suffering we endure. Would our faith help us? Were we not the ones most worthy of making wishes?
Then I asked:
— "How can we make a wish without flowers? And is the river even close by?"
Szymon replied,
— "About the flowers—I have a solution. But we'll have to go farther upstream, since there will surely be a crowd near the main riverbank."
I thought to myself, I won't get another chance to go to the river… except with Szymon.
On the way, Szymon stopped and picked up a bag he had hidden earlier, then we continued walking. I didn't quite understand the full meaning of the festival, but I felt that there was a special magic in the air that night.
Along the riverbank, the lights were visible from afar. The entire village had gathered—children, young girls, all of them glowing with joy. Women carried flower wreaths they had crafted from wildflowers and adorned with candles. Their laughter rose like an old song the soul remembered.
It is said that if your wreath floats on the water without sinking, you will find happiness and true love. That's what Szymon told me, looking dreamy.
After a long walk, we reached the river's peak. Szymon took out a flower wreath he had carefully arranged. He told me he had picked the flowers during a visit to the farm and had hidden them away. I felt grateful. He was trying to live like a real human being… out here.
He asked me to come closer. He said our fate was shared, and that we would wish together.
I felt like my small wishes, for once, might finally be heard. I closed my eyes, whispered softly, then we tossed our wreath into the water.
It felt like a dream: our wreath—simple like us—floated along the riverbank, joining the others, glowing with candles. Once again, fireworks lit up the sky. We were so close to the heavens. We looked at each other with joy—perhaps this moment was the beginning of happiness… or a coming tragedy.
The fireworks blazed far above us, like falling stars celebrating our secret.
On the way back, Szymon kept asking questions, then answering them himself. Finally, he asked me what I had wished for. I smiled and said,
— "To live happily."
But my wish was selfish. I had wished to be adopted and taken away from here soon.
He, lost in thought, told me he wished that Zuzanna would agree to run away with him—soon.