Michael stared at him, stunned. How could a child who seemed to own nothing offer comfort to a man who possessed everything? His throat tightened.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Michael managed.
The boy pointed toward a flattened cardboard box behind a trash bin.
“I sleep there,” he said with a small shrug. “But you look sadder than me. I’m Charlie.”
Shame pierced Michael sharply. He had believed himself the victim of the night. Yet here stood a child who slept on pavement and still had kindness to spare.
“Where are your parents, Charlie?”
The boy shrugged again, as if unwilling to make a tragedy of it.
“Don’t know. But why are you crying?”
Michael glanced toward the glowing mall entrance.
“I lost my son,” he whispered. “His name is Noah. He’s four. I was on the phone. I turned around… and he was gone.”
Charlie’s eyes widened.
“A little boy with a Spider-Man shirt? Dark hair?”
Michael’s heart skipped.
“You’ve seen him?”
“I think so,” Charlie said, bouncing lightly. “At the park behind the mall. A gray-haired lady was pushing him on the swing. She had a pearl necklace.”
Hope surged through Michael like electricity. He jumped to his feet.
“Show me. Please.”