She's been twelve for two months when Angela returns from school to find Mr. Lindholm waiting for her with the Matron, and fending off the horde of other kids wanting to see a real-life hero. It actually takes her a moment to recognise the man without the blues - the last she'd seen him in person was… oh, maybe a year before her parents were killed. He and his wife used to visit them on occasion when she was little. They always brought her amazing, handmade toys. They had to be worth more than all that she has nowadays.
"Angela! Oh, how you've grown. Come here you!" It's only the elation at seeing the man that stops her from feeling upset at his choice of words. It's not his fault, it's Uncle's. Plus, he hasn't seen her for such a long time that from his perspective, she really must have grown.
He takes her out for ice cream and a story of how he set out to track her down to make sure she was- well not alright, that couldn't have been, but at least cared for in the aftermath of what happened to her parents. Eventually, track her down he did - already in the care of her family, and so he left it at that.
"I heard what happened with your uncle. Someone mentioned a Ziegler was in trouble, so I dug around a bit and found out they put you in the system. I wanted to come before but with the war still going… Anyway, how are you holding up?"
That, Angela suddenly realises, is a question nobody, including herself, has asked her since she's been put in here. How is she holding up? She hates it here. She hates sharing a room half the size of her old one with five others. She hates the hand-me-downs hanging off her frame. She hates some of the other kids. She hates how they feel like they can push others around and get away with it. She hates that they can. She hates the counsellor. She hates not being able to go out anywhere, afford anything. She hates the people on the TV talking about the economy. She hates that she can't run for even a minute.
She plasters a smile upon her face. Those can't be the things Mr. Lindholm wants to hear about. She's noticed it's more of a ritual for adults to ask about such things than anything genuine, like back when her parents used to ask her how kindergarten was - something Uncle never even pretended to care about. To be honest, Angela doesn't particularly want to bring up her troubles either. They get ice cream once a week at most, and nowhere near as good as what Mr. Lindholm has bought her. Souring the taste with complaining about things she can't change would be a waste of a good day.
"It could be worse," she says at length, though she knows not how. She could've died with her parents, or in Uncle's experiments, she supposes.
When Mr. Lindholm leaves, he promises he'll visit again, and to Angela's surprise, he does. He offers to buy her some necessities this time around, and Angela is glad she can have some clothes that don't hang off of her, but makes sure to not choose anything too nice, or too much of it lest the others grow even more jealous than they already are. On his third visit, Mr. Lindholm is accompanied by his wife, and something like hope blossoms in Angela's chest as they walk the streets of her little German town so far away from Sweden.
She tells herself to curb that feeling. She's twelve, and some of the kids that live in the orphanage came here as toddlers - there just aren't enough families willing to take children in following the war. Hope is a funny thing, though, and in spite of herself Angela acts on her absolute best behaviour whenever the pair come to visit. She and Mrs. Lindholm can't really hold a conversation, what with the woman not knowing German and Angela's own lacking English, but they make do with Mr. Lindholm translating between them; less and less with each subsequent visit as Angela throws herself into learning the language. She'll need English eventually if she wants to be a doctor, regardless, so she might as well - or so she tells herself.
She's thirteen to a day when they ask her if she'd like to live with them, and Angela is the most surprised of all to find herself wary. She wants to go. She wants away from this destitute place and the miserable years that are sure to await her until adulthood. She wants a home again. She wants better opportunities than whatever the strained childcare system can provide for its orphans.
She pushes the feeling down. She wants out, and Mr. Lindholm is a world-renowned hero. There's nothing to be wary of.
The couple propose that she keep her name, out of respect for her parents. Angela tries, and fails to banish the thought they're leaving themselves a way out. She's not very attached to her name. After all, it is one that Uncle also bears. The Lindholm name, on the other hand, is famous around the world. Or, infamous perhaps, but to her understanding it's always better to be known than not, no matter the reputation.
She smiles through the pulsating pain in her chest, thanking them for remembering her parents. For remembering her, as well. If it is a test, she refuses to fail it.
The weeks preceding her departure from the orphanage while formalities are taken care of are awkward. Nobody wishes her ill that she'd stay, but everyone is clearly jealous of her for going away to live with a real-life hero. Of anywhere that is not where they must stay, really. No promises to keep in touch are made. She's going abroad, which might as well be a different planet.
The school year has just finished when the papers are signed that the still dazed Angela finds herself at the Stuttgart airport by her new caretakers' side. She's never been to an airport before, and she finds the size and bustle of it more than a little intimidating.
It doesn't help matters in the least when the metal detector flares red in alarm as she walks through it, sending her heart into painful palpitations.
Angela has a good guess as to the reason behind both.
"What's wrong?" Mrr. Lindholm asks her once she fails to move towards the additional scanner the security tells her to step into.
What isn't wrong? She's not even been out of the orphanage for a day and it's already going to get out Uncle did something to her. That she's not the girl they think they're taking in. Will they still want to bring her with them? She doesn't want to find out. She doesn't want to go back.
"Do I-" The words get stuck in her throat until she swallows them back down. "Do I have be scanned?" Angela turns her eyes down as she speaks, but still catches the quick glance Mr. and Mrs. Lindholm exchange. She grabs her arms by the elbows in her futile battle to stop them from shaking.
"Unfortunately, but it's either this or a pat-down so-"
"Can I do that, instead?"
The security officer, naturally, finds nothing on her that she forgot to put away for the belongings scan. With her phone left for the orphanage, she has nothing to put away. The woman seems a bit at a loss, looking between Angela and Mr. Lindholm when she again finds nothing after the metal detector goes off for the second time, but eventually sends them on.
Flying is nice. The view by the window almost makes her forget to expect the adults with her to question her about setting off the alarm, something they never do, and something Angela is glad to accept for what it is. Whatever it is.
The Lindholm's house is bigger than even the one her parents had. The room she is given would fit two dozen or more children at the orphanage, with a bed that could fit three of the one she slept in the night before, and much softer, too. She gets her own computer, a new (actually new) phone, an entire wardrobe full of pretty and fitting clothes - all of them long-sleeved at her own insistence, a monthly allowance bigger than a few years of her old one combined… the list goes on. It's more than she's had for years, maybe ever, and more than a little overwhelming. To the point she's constantly on the lookout for the other shoe to drop.
Angela almost cracks when Mrs. Lindholm buys her a height chart a month in, even going as far as making the first mark upon it once they hang it up in her room. Has she noticed? Already? Has she been paying attention since her first visit to the orphanage, or talked about it with the Matron? Is this her way of telling her she knows and expects her to talk?
"Don't worry Angela, you'll grow big in no time." The woman reassures with an earnest smile as she caps the marker.
...Maybe she doesn't need to worry about that just yet.