52 My Missing Son Called Me "Mom" From the Streets—But No One Believed It Was Really Him
The woman’s hand, which had been reaching out to pull Emily back, suddenly froze in mid-air. The air around them seemed to vanish. Her breath caught in her throat.
That tiny voice sent a cold jolt down her spine, but her rational mind instantly sounded an alarm. It had been three years since Leo vanished at the park. Three years of thousands of desperate phone calls, hundreds of trips following false leads, and so many cruel dashes of hope that her heart had grown callous.
She blinked, trying to chase away the hallucination. She took a half-step back, looking at the street child with a mix of guarded caution and pity. He was too skinny, his skin covered in grime, his matted hair hiding half his face, and those fearful eyes didn't seem to belong to the smiling, pampered son she once knew. Street kids sometimes called any woman who gave them food "Mom" to beg for more sympathy. She knew that. She couldn't let herself be deceived by her own grief once again.
May you like
"What... what did you just call me?" she asked, her voice trying to sound firm but trembling openly.
Seeing the woman step back, the boy's eyes immediately dropped. He shrank his shoulders, curling into himself like a frightened snail retreating into its shell. His hand went limp, dropping the piece of sandwich onto the damp brick floor. He bit his cracked, bleeding lip, his tear-filled eyes staring blankly at the toes of his torn shoes.
