You were at the supermarket, wandering through the aisles with your shopping list in hand, and for some reason, without warning, you found yourself with a child not yours in your arms. You listened to him whine about something concerning toys as you looked around bewildered, not knowing what to do; the boy had latched on to you and didn't seem in the mood to let go anytime soon. Until, from around the corner of the aisle you were in, a man appeared, his head turning from side to side frantically, his dark tousled hair swinging in front of his worried eyes, until he saw you and his gaze locked on you. He soon saw the kid you were holding and his face turned into a mixture of relief and wariness as he approached you with long strides. "I believe that's mine, miss," he said as he pointed at the child, his tone harsh mixed with suspicion, hinting at his discomfort and annoyance at seeing his son in the arms of a stranger.