Laughter rang out in the small yard, drawing a smile to Cassandra’s lips. These were the moments she lived for. The moments that made her job worth a damn more than any other.

“Miss Cassandra!” A small girl tugged at the hem of Cassandra’s shirt with a grin on her face so wide it was impossible to know the child was in a terrible living situation. “Come and play with us.”

Squatting down, she looked into Tamara’s eyes and beamed at the young girl. “I taught you this game. It wouldn’t be fair for me to play. I’d win.”

“Not always!” A boy whose English was improving raced past with a smirk. “Catch us!”

Pushing off her knees, she grinned at them. All eleven no longer ran but stared at her with pleading in their eyes.

“Well, then.” Standing up, she looked around the orphanage yard. “Catch me if you can! Zuma, you’re it!”

With a cackle of her own, she took off, moving slow enough that the kids could overtake her and better enjoy the game.

“I am coming!” Zuma exclaimed with a giggle.

Slowing her pace even further, Cassandra barely took a step per second as she waited for one of her favorite youth to tag her.

“You are it!” Zuma’s infectious laughter rang out as his small hand delicately touched her elbow. “Kukimbia haraka!” He shouted perfectly in Swahili, turning on his heel and racing away.

“I’m going to get you all! The rules have changed. Tag everyone to win!” She should have spoken in Swahili, but part of her mission was to improve the children’s English.

Forcing herself to take smaller, slower steps, she raced after the eleven playing children. The sun beat down on her as she sprinted over barren, dry and cracked land, but the laughter ringing out in front of her was all she focused on.

“Ninakuja kwako!” I’m coming for you! Pretending to stretch her hand as far as it could go she tagged not one, but three of the girls playing.

Laughing, they sat down on the spot, leaving her to continue her charade of a chase after the remaining children. None whined or complained that their turn to play was over—something she admired most about these fantastic children.

All she heard was glee as she moved, slower than a turtle, after each of her charges. One by one she tagged them all until she let her gaze roam over the yard and saw them sitting, legs crossed, watching with amusement dancing in their eyes.

“I’m the winner!” Her arms shot up into the air in celebration of her victory.

The kids all clapped good-naturedly, again reminding her they were more than well-adjusted, but how hopeful they were.

“Chakula cha mchana,” Tahani, director of the orphanage, called out from the doorway for the children to come in for lunch. She wiped her hands on a well-worn white towel, smiling to Cassandra.

The children rose with a leap, all crashing together and chattering away as they moved toward the small building where they ate all their meals. Cassandra merely watched from her spot. She never ate with them, preferring to take meals alone so she could document activities and think of plans moving forward for her project.

She’d never imagined her life would take her to other countries to help children in need of so much more than U.S. children in similar predicaments. Cassandra had done six missions to this particular orphanage in Uganda. Many of the children recognized her, and far too few were ever placed in homes from visit to visit. Her heart broke each time, knowing most of these children would spend their childhood here, never having a traditional family structure, values, and benefits.

“They have so little, and they don’t ask for more,” she spoke to no one, something she often did when voicing her thoughts.

A shift in the wind sent a warm breeze over her bare shoulders—something that rarely happened in the dead of summer. Despite the warmth of the air, goosebumps broke out over her arms as a chill raced through her. Cassandra had the distinct feeling eyes were on her.

Often times, hunters and militant forces looked in on the orphanages. Whether the soldiers were there to protect them or take advantage of them, she was never sure. The children were protected by the haphazard government, but watching as burly, sweaty men marched past with guns on their shoulders was disconcerting, to say the least. Cassandra would have given anything to shield young eyes from seeing the horrors of war around them, but that was not one of her skills. Only a Guardian Angel could shield someone from the horrible things in life.

Chuckling at the thought, she turned a slow circle, looking to see who was watching her. In an unusual twist, she saw no one. No men with guns, no prospective parents and no government officials coming to tell them more funding had been cut. Yet the feeling did not leave her. Eyes still felt as if they were boring into her soul.

Shuddering at the eeriness, she gave one last turn with a sigh. After three weeks it wasn’t a surprise her mind was playing tricks on her. The nights were warm and bug-filled, so much so she hardly slept. Though her mosquito net trapped enough bugs to give her nightmares, no matter how many times she visited the country, she rarely sustained the irritating bug bites.

“Two weeks until you go home.” The thought was not one of happiness, despite being more than ready for her plush bed and bug-free home.

Leaving meant saying goodbye to twenty-two of the most deserving children on the planet. Twenty-two children who needed someone to fight for them; to get them care, to tuck them in at night and to teach them the most basic things. Whenever she left, she prayed she would return on the next trip to find another social worker had come—but that was never the case. Her favorite little orphanage was in a dangerous war zone, so few workers came, unlike so many of the others she visited in other countries.

“Well, that soured quickly,” Her mood rarely turned dark at the thought of returning home. Though her work was important, each time she returned to familiar faces, it took a toll on her soul. One she was in need of escaping at the moment. “The only thing for that is an ice cold water and story time.”

With one last scan around, Cassandra wished she could shake the feeling of eyes following her. It was a bright, warm day, and she had children to make smile.