The rain fell in a soft, steady rhythm, blurring the world outside the cracked windshield as if the sky itself mourned with her. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles pale against the dark interior of the car. Her breathing was shallow, controlled, each inhale a silent battle against the storm within. In the backseat, three-year-old Calvin slept with his head tilted gently to the side, his tiny frame rising and falling with fragile breaths. Beside him, six-year-old Anna sat quietly, wide-eyed, clutching a worn teddy bear against her chest. She hadn't spoken in over an hour, as if she sensed that whatever was happening was too heavy for words.
The orphanage stood ahead, quiet and cold, its rusted gate barely visible through the mist and rain. The mother pulled the car to a halt and closed her eyes. A sharp pain bloomed in her chest-not from her illness, but from something deeper, more unbearable. She turned to her children, memorizing every detail of their faces. Calvin, her sweet, delicate boy, born with a heart too weak for this world. Anna, brave beyond her years, with eyes that always searched for answers. Her heart ached with a love so fierce it nearly tore her apart. But her body was failing, eaten away by cancer she hadn't seen coming, and now, in its final stage, there was no one left to turn to. No family. No friends. Just her and the crushing silence of goodbye.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling as tears slipped down her cheeks. "I love you more than you'll ever know." With shaking hands, she opened the door and stepped out into the rain, lifting Calvin into her arms while Anna followed, silent and scared. At the orphanage door, she rang the bell, kissed each of their foreheads, and whispered something only they could hear. Then, without waiting, without looking back, she walked away, her figure swallowed by the rain, leaving behind the two pieces of her heart she could no longer hold.
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