It was a chilly afternoon when Mia and her younger brother Luke walked past the park near their school. They noticed a little girl sitting on a bench, bundled in an oversized hoodie, clutching a ragged teddy bear.
Luke whispered, “She looks dirty.”
Mia glanced at her worn shoes, her matted hair, and muttered, “Probably homeless.”
They walked past, heads high — until they heard a soft sneeze behind them. Luke paused.
He looked back and asked, “Do you think she’s cold?”
Mia hesitated. “Maybe. But… we don’t know her.”
Luke frowned. “We didn’t even say hi.”
They stood there, unsure, hearts battling what they’d been taught by the world — and what they were starting to feel in their own.
Finally, Luke turned around. “I have an extra snack. I want to give it to her.”
Mia followed.
As they approached, the girl looked up, eyes wide, but didn’t move.
“Hey,” Luke said gently. “Want some crackers?”
She nodded shyly, taking the pack with quiet hands.
“What’s your name?” Mia asked.
“Lily.”
They sat beside her for a moment — three kids, no more, no less.
They didn’t know her full story, but they didn’t need to.
They had seen her. Really seen her.
And that was the beginning of everything.
