My mother’s voice was calm, but her eyes were burning. “Then God has placed him in your path for a reason.”
That night, I barely slept.
The next morning, I woke up with one clear thought.
David needed real help, and I could not ignore it.
Before opening the shop, I went to the market. I bought simple children’s clothes. A clean shirt. Shorts. Jeans. Shoes. Nothing expensive, just new enough to say: you matter.
I returned to the shop and arranged everything, checking the road every few minutes, imagining his smile when he saw them.
A little later than usual, I finally saw him running toward the shop, waving the same small hand he always waved.
My heart lifted.
Then everything happened too fast.
A car appeared suddenly, speeding far faster than it should. David stepped forward without noticing, still running, still smiling, still trusting the world too much.
The car didn’t slow down.
It didn’t honk.
It hit him.
The sound of impact punched my ears. David’s small body flew and landed hard. For one terrifying second, the world became silent inside my head, like my mind refused to accept what my eyes saw.
Then the driver sped off.
No stopping. No turning back.
I screamed David’s name and ran.
People shouted. Some froze. Some recorded with their phones. A woman covered her mouth. A man cursed loudly. Someone yelled for help.
When I reached David, he was lying on his side, barely moving. His breathing was shallow. His eyes were half open, confused and frightened.
I dropped to my knees, shaking.
