Visit to the orphanage
My next step was a visit to the orphanage affiliated with the relative mentioned by Frank. The building looked imposing, with its old brick walls and tall, iron gates.
I walked in, determined to find any records that could shed light on my family’s past. Inside, the air was stuffy, filled with the scent of old books and paper.
‘I’m here to look through your archives,’ I told the receptionist, praying they’d let me.