It looked abandoned. No windows. No doors. Bare blocks exposed to the night air. A place that felt like it belonged to ghosts and danger, not to a child.
David stepped inside like he had done it a hundred times.
I held my breath and watched from behind a wall.
He placed his food pack on the ground and sat on a pile of old blocks. Nearby, a thin piece of cloth was spread like a bed.
No light. No adult. No protection.
Just an empty building and a little boy trying to survive.
My chest tightened so suddenly it felt like the air disappeared. Tears filled my eyes. I covered my mouth, trembling.
No child deserved this. No child should sleep where even grown men would be afraid.
I stepped back before he could see me, and when I reached the main road, the tears came freely. Ugly, unstoppable tears.
When I got home, my mother knew immediately.
“What happened?” she asked, grabbing my shoulders. “Why are you crying?”
I told her everything.
She gasped softly and sat down like the story had weight. “A little boy living there alone…”
“Yes,” I whispered. “He has nobody.”
