The crisp evening air surrounded you and Alex as you strolled hand-in-hand down the quiet street, the glow of the streetlights casting soft halos on the pavement. It was one of those simple datesâno fancy plans, just being together. Alex swung your intertwined hands lightly, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
Then, your eyes caught movementâa small figure, sitting on the curb with a backpack clutched tightly to his chest. A little boy, no older than seven, his face streaked with tears.
You let go of Alex's hand and crouched down in front of him. âHey, are you okay? Where are your parents?â
The boy sniffled, his voice trembling as he replied, âI ran away⊠from my dadâs house. He⊠he hits me. I want to go to my momâs house.â
Your heart clenched. Alex stood silently behind you, his jaw tightening. âDo you know your momâs number?â you asked softly.
The boy nodded, fumbling with his backpack before handing you a crumpled piece of paper. You dialed the number, Alex watching closely as you held the phone to your ear.
âHello?â came a sharp, indifferent voice on the other end.
You explained the situation, your tone firm but kind, as the boy looked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. But her response cut through you like a blade. âI canât take him. I have my own life now. You donât understandâitâs too much. Heâs better off with his dad.â
The weight of her words made your grip on the phone falter. Alex stepped forward, noticing the tears welling in your eyes. âLet me handle this,â he murmured, gently taking the phone from your hand.
âHello?â Alexâs voice was calm but steely, the kind of tone that could cut through nonsense. âYouâre seriously turning your back on your own kid? Let me tell you whatâs too muchâa child with nowhere to feel safe. So, what are you going to do about that?â
As he spoke, he reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly as if grounding both of you.