PART 1
The square was full.
Families.
Tourists.
Children playing.
And next to a brick wall…
there was him.
A child.
Alone.
With worn-out clothes.
Dirty hands.
And an old backpack as the only belonging.
Most of the people were passing by.
As if it didn’t exist.
Then a little girl came up.
He would have been about seven years old.
She was wearing a blue bow in her hair.
And a sandwich in my hand.
– Are you hungry? – he asked.
The boy hesitated.
Then he nodded.
The girl handed him the sandwich.
And he smiled.
It was then that a voice came across the square.
– EMMA!
The girl’s mother was running towards them.
Visibly upset.
– What are you doing?
The little girl was placed in front of the child.
– He’s hungry.
The woman took her daughter by the hand.
And then he looked at the child.
Just a second.
But it was enough.
His face lost its color.
Because those eyes…
they were exactly the same as yours.
And under the left eyebrow…
there was a small scar.
A scar I knew all too well.
The woman dropped the bag.
The boy looked up.
Confused.
Scared.
Then she whispered:
– It can’t be…
And the boy said something that paralyzed the whole square.
– Mom?
PART 2 IN COMMENTS 👇👇👇
PART 2
The square fell silent.
No one moved.
No one understood what was happening.
The woman fell to her knees in front of the child.
Tears were streaming down her face.
– No… it can’t be…
The boy stepped back.
Scared.
Confused.
Little Emma looked at her mother without understanding.
– Mom… do you know him?
The woman could barely breathe.
Because I knew that scar.
I knew those eyes.
I knew that face.
Eight years earlier, her son had disappeared into a crowded shopping mall.
The police have been looking for him for months.
The newspapers talked about the case.
But they never found a clue.
Until now.
The woman trembled as she took his hand.
– What’s your name?
– Lucas.
The world seemed to stop.
That was the name.
The same name.
Then the boy took something out of his backpack.
An old photograph.
Wrinkled.
Worn out.
The woman took it.
And she started crying even more.
Because the photograph showed a family.
To her.
To her husband.
And a little two-year-old boy.
Lucas.
But then he saw something else.
Written behind the photograph.
An address.
Recent.
Written down just a few days before.
The woman looked up.
– Who gave you this?
Lucas swallowed hard.
– The man who told me never to look for you.
The woman’s face lost its color.
Because he immediately recognized that address.
It belonged to someone I knew very well.
Someone who had been helping her look for her son for eight years.
