It was a quiet evening in the city, the kind where the rain gently taps on the pavement and the world feels like it’s slowing down, giving you space to think and breathe.
Pete Hegseth, exhausted from a long day of work, walked home, his shoes splashing through the wet streets as he headed towards his apartment. The usual hustle and bustle had died down, and the streets were eerily empty. As he passed a narrow alleyway, something caught his eye—a small figure sitting alone under the awning of a closed convenience store.
At first, Pete thought it might just be another homeless person, another fixture of the city’s many forgotten. But as he got closer, he saw the boy—no older than 10—sitting there with torn clothes, a piece of half-eaten bread in his hand, and eyes that seemed to stare blankly at the world as it passed him by.
It wasn’t just the boy’s appearance that made Pete stop—it was the sheer desolation in his eyes. The signs of neglect, possibly stemming from undiagnosed chronic illness or childhood trauma, were impossible to ignore.
Pete’s instincts took over. He approached gently, his voice soft. “Hey, are you alright?” he asked, crouching down to the boy’s level. The boy didn’t look up immediately but, after a few seconds, slowly met Pete’s gaze.
“I’m fine,” the boy replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just hungry.”
