Alice awoke to the scent of something warm—eggs and toast, a hint of butter. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking into the pale morning light that leaked through the half-open blinds. For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then the white walls reminded her.
It wasn't home.
Home was gone.
Her heart clenched.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Across the room, Elvin stood at the small kitchenette in the corner of their temporary foster unit, sleeves rolled up, flipping eggs on a pan with the same precision as a soldier loading a gun. The aroma made her stomach growl, betraying how little she had eaten since the accident.
"You're awake." His voice was gentle, like he didn't want to startle her.
She nodded, legs dangling over the side of the bed, watching him with cautious eyes. He wasn't her father. But he'd been here every second since her world collapsed. That had to mean something.
He plated the food, turned off the stove, and carried it over.
"Breakfast for the princess," he said, placing the tray in front of her.
The corners of her lips twitched into the smallest smile. "Mama used to say that too…"
His expression softened. "That's because she raised me to treat girls like queens. But with you, she was obsessed. You were her entire world."
Alice looked down, the mention of her mother stirring fresh grief.
"She never told me about you," she whispered.
He pulled up a chair beside her. "I wasn't around a lot. I was training, deployed most of the time. But we talked. Every week. She sent photos. Told me about your school, your dancing, the time you lost your first tooth and cried for two hours." His eyes twinkled.
Alice giggled through a sniffle. "She gave me ice cream to stop crying."
"I remember that picture. Vanilla all over your nose."
Alice stared at him then. Really stared.
He didn't feel like a stranger anymore.
"She really loved you," Alice said quietly. "Like a brother?"
Elvin hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Your mom and I weren't blood. She was adopted into my family when I was in high school. But she treated me like her real brother. She was my only family after I left the military academy."
"So… you're my uncle?" Alice asked, tilting her head.
He smiled faintly. "If that makes you feel safer, yes. But I prefer 'Elvin.' I want you to call me what makes you comfortable."
She thought for a second, then whispered, "You can be my Elvin."
His heart twisted a little at the innocent claim. She was only nine. And yet, grief had aged her eyes.
"I'll be whatever you need me to be," he replied.
Alice began eating slowly, taking small bites. Between mouthfuls, her eyes wandered back to Elvin. She noticed things now—how he ate silently, how he seemed to think before he spoke, how his fingers twitched slightly when he wasn't moving. Soldier's habits.
"Are you going back to the army?" she asked after a while.
He looked at her for a long moment before shaking his head. "Not right now. I've taken leave."
"For me?"
"For you."
Alice's chest tightened. A stranger who had become her shield. A man who once lived in her mother's stories, now suddenly the only steady ground she had.
"I want to go home…" she murmured, the words barely a whisper.
Elvin reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "We'll find a new one," he promised. "Not today. Not tomorrow. But I'll build it for you. A place you can laugh again. Sleep in peace. Dream."
"Can we… still celebrate my birthday?" she asked timidly. "It's in a few weeks."
He blinked. "Of course. Cake, candles, presents. Anything you want."
Alice hesitated, then whispered, "I want you to be there."
"I wouldn't miss it."
And just like that, a new bond began to form—not one built by blood, but by pain, promises, and the unwavering presence of a man who had once been a name in a letter, and now held her broken heart like something sacred.