At that very moment, Cassandra's reddened. She struggled to wheel herself closer to us.
She pleaded, “Auntie… life here is worse than you think. The donations from kind people are limited. I was born disabled so I can’t fight with the others for food or supplies. The director prefers healthy kids because they have a better chance of being adopted. No one here really cares about me!”
“All these years, you’re the only ones who ever talked to me … whoever bought me things. If you don’t take me home today, you might never see me again …” she continued.
“I’m begging you, Auntie. I know your family is doing well. So, adding one more person to raise won’t be a burden. I’ll work for you as a nanny. I’ll take care of your daughter. I’ll clean, I’ll cook—I’ll do anything. I don’t mind suffering …”
Her voice trembled, her expression pitiful, but her calculating eyes sent a chill down my spine. I instinctively stepped back and pulled my daughter closer.