Part 4

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Victoria knew she was surfacing and fought to stay in her dream world

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Victoria knew she was surfacing and fought to stay in her dream world. The warm, sweet nothingness of sleep cocooned her in a cradling embrace far too pleasant to give up easily. Reluctantly, she Inched open one eye and let the other follow at its own sleepy pace. A soft, yellow sheet caressed her body while the sun edged its way through the slated window blinds, striping her with light. Its golden color matched the amber flecks in Rashid's eyes. The humiliating memory shattered the tranquility of her morning and reminded her of where she was.

Applewood, a privately run orphanage, had become her secret sanctuary these last few months. It was a small institution that cared for children with special circumstances and needs. Considered high-risk by most prospective parents, the majority of the eighty-three children at Applewood would never fulfill their dream of having a family of their own.

As a young girl of twelve, she'd lost her own mother. No doubt, this was why she'd developed an instant kinship with the children of Applewood. The developing image of her mother stirred an old memory of guilt. If she hadn't insisted on taking ballet that summer, her mother would not have been driving her to practice; she would still be alive, along with her baby brother. The son her father always wanted would now be a thriving young teenager, and she would not have spent her life trying to make up for his loss.

Her initial visit to Applewood resulted from a business venture to secure a real estate acquisition for her father's firm. At first sight, she'd fallen in love with the three-storied building of English Tudor design. Flowers bloomed everywhere, and English ivy loyally clung to the grayish, stone entryway. The arched entrance opened onto an inner courtyard. Vestiges of what was once a formal garden still lurked in rows of boxed hedges. Swings, slides, and a network of brightly colored tunnels now filled the spaces between shade trees and beds of peonies and gardenias.

On her first visit, she'd been making her way through the deserted playground when a child's voice caught her attention. Searching for its owner, she'd found a little girl about four or five years of age sitting under a gnarled apple tree wearing denim overalls covered with bits of leaves and grass clippings. Cradled in her small hands were two ladybugs. In a tear-filled voice, she shared her sorrow with her little companions.

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