Page 47 of Wasted Grace

That night is seared into me. It’s the reason I don’t snap now.

Because no matter how strong I feel today, I know what it cost them to carry me out of that darkness.

And maybe that’s the most gutting part of all this.

That even now, even after surviving it, I still sound like I’m only trying toconvincethem I’m okay.

And worse... like I’m trying to convince myself.

TWELVE

Aadya

I used to think that because I was born Greesha, I’d die as Greesha.

It was a dream, really—a delusional little construct I clung to when I first started my relationship with Advik. Because Advik wasn’t just a boyfriend or some passing relationship. He was areality. A fragile, human-sized life I was trying to build for myself.

Normalcy. The most dangerous kind of dream.

My first name change at twenty—from Greesha to Sanya—hurt like hell.

Sanya to Simran was easier.

Simran back to Greesha? That felt likerelief.

That was me manifesting a life I needed. The quiet one. The one with grocery bills, laundry arguments, kitchen banter. It was almost funny how much I craved mundane things. With a partner who loved me. A partner I thought would remain as Advik.

It didn’t happen that way, though.

I never outran being unwanted. Butneeded.

But then again, it was because I was an older child in the orphanage. Almost fifteen when my parents were killed.Murdered, really. But who’s counting my trauma anymore?

Suddenly, I went from being a child to being in charge of them. Not the youngest anymore—but theoldest. The caretaker. The surrogate warden. The tired, capable one.

I was skilled enough—or maybepliableenough—to be put to work in the kitchen atSunrise Homes: The Refuge of Light.

Because... kids are the light, right?

What a goddamn joke.

Whoever named that place should’ve stepped inside once. I never felt safe in that building. I’d wake up to babies wailing, toddlers clinging, wardens subtly pushing me into the role of full-time nanny.

So now, as I stand in front of this hollowed shell of a building—a softer hell compared to others I’ve seen—I feel something I don’t like.

Unsettled.

The water damage on the concrete is mild compared to the moss overtaking the pillars. Even rogue blades of grass have claimed the stairs.

Mehul Bediownsthis place now.

He didn’t when I was a kid. But he does now. And I’ve seen the records.

Back then, I used to be jealous of the infants. The toddlers. They were adoptable. Us older kids? No one wanted us. The weekly showings were always for the ones who couldn’t yet form opinions.

NowI’m not jealous. I’m horrified.

Because just like every other orphanage Mehul has taken over, he’s been lifting the older ones. The ones who wouldn’t be missed if they were gone. The ones the system already gave up on.