The wind was cold that afternoon, the kind that bites through thin sweaters and reminds you that autumn isn’t always kind. In the middle of the park, a little girl sat on a wooden bench beside her mother, clutching a threadbear blanket around her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink from the chill, and her small voice trembled as she whispered something that pierced the quiet air like a broken note.
The wind was cold that afternoon, the kind that bites through thin sweaters and reminds you that autumn isn’t always kind. In the middle of the park,…