My sister and I were separated in an orphanage – 32 years later, I saw again the bracelet I had made for a little girl.

I grew up in an orphanage and was separated from my little sister when I was eight years old. For thirty years, I wondered if she was still alive, until a routine business trip and a chance visit to the supermarket changed everything.
My name is Elena. When I was eight, I promised my little sister I would find her.

I then spent thirty-two years failing.

Mia and I grew up in an orphanage. We had no parents, no photos, no comforting stories about someone returning. Just two narrow beds in a crowded room and a thin file containing barely any information. So, we became each other’s only universe.

She followed me everywhere, holding my hand in the hallways, terrified of waking up and not seeing me. I learned to braid her hair with my fingers. I learned to steal her bread rolls without getting caught. I learned that by smiling politely and answering questions correctly, adults treated us both better.

We weren’t dreaming big. We were just dreaming of leaving together.

Then one day, a couple came to visit us.

They toured the orphanage with the director, smiling and nodding, the kind of people you see in adoption brochures. They watched the children play. They watched me reading to Mia in a corner.