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 dates—no fancy plans, just being together. Alex swung your intertwined hands lightly, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

Then, your eyes caught movement—a 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. “Hey, are you okay? Where are your parents?”

The boy sniffled, his voice trembling as he replied, “I ran away… from my dad’s house. He… he hits me. I want to go to my mom’s house.”

Your heart clenched. Alex stood silently behind you, his jaw tightening. “Do you know your mom’s number?” 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.

“Hello?” 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. “I can’t take him. I have my own life now. You don’t understand—it’s too much. He’s better off with his dad.”

The weight of her words made your grip on the phone falter. Alex stepped forward, noticing the tears welling in your eyes. “Let me handle this,” he murmured, gently taking the phone from your hand.

“Hello?” Alex’s voice was calm but steely, the kind of tone that could cut through nonsense. “You’re seriously turning your back on your own kid? Let me tell you what’s too much—a child with nowhere to feel safe. So, what are you going to do about that?”

As he spoke, he reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly as if grounding both of you.