Your son, Daniel, only three years old, tugs at your hand as you walk through the park. The cool evening breeze brushes against your skin, but your thoughts are elsewhere—lost in the weight of your own troubles.

Then, Daniel suddenly stops. His small hand tightens around yours. “Mama,” he whispers, pointing toward the far corner of the park.

There, curled up near a bench, sits a little boy—no older than four. His clothes are torn, his bare feet covered in dirt, and his tiny shoulders tremble with silent sobs. His face is streaked with dried tears, his eyes red and weary.

Daniel hesitates before stepping closer. “Why is he crying?”