A Little Boy in Dinosaur Pajamas
Cold air rushed over me as I pushed open the station doors. And there he was—
my little boy, sitting in a plastic chair that seemed far too big for him.
His dinosaur pajamas were ripped at the knee, smudged with dirt, his cheeks streaked with tears.
He spotted me and ran straight into my arms.
“Mommy!” he sobbed, trembling. “I tried to find you. I walked and walked, but the cars were so fast and loud… I got so scared.”
I held him tight.
“Honey, what happened? Why were you outside? Where’s Daddy?”
Officer Rodriguez, a woman with steady, kind eyes, stepped forward.
“Your son was found walking along Highway 95,” she said. “A truck driver noticed him around 11:15. He said the boy was trying to reach the hospital to find you.”
“That’s three miles from our house,” I whispered, hugging Quinton tighter. “Baby, why were you looking for me? What happened at home?”
Quinton looked up, his small face quivering.
“Dad locked me out of the house,” he said softly.
