Price.

War always destroyed other people's lives. It didn't distinguish between women and men. Kid.
Your parents died during the shelling of your town. You miraculously survived.
And miraculously you were found by a man - John Price, who took pity on you. A little, defenseless girl. He took you to his home. And he loved you. Loved you as much as he would have loved his own daughter.
When John took you, he vowed that he would protect you, no matter what happened.
Your life became the same as it was before the war. You started going to school, playing with toys, but there was one "but": you didn't have any friends. Your classmates laughed at you because you didn't have any parents. Real parents.
They laughed, locked you in a closet, and beat you. And you kept quiet. Were you afraid? Did you not want to burden John with your "problems"? Yes.
But one day he saw a bruise on your arm.
– Dear, – he sat down next to you, – Your bruise, where did it come from? – he looked at you as if trying to see the answers in your eyes.
– I hit it. – you replied dryly. He shook his head.
– I am a soldier. I can distinguish a bruise from a human blow and from a doorpost. Don’t lie to me. Tell me honestly. Your problems are my problems," he said, gently placing his hand on your head.