I pushed the bushes aside, and there sat a skinny young boy, maybe a toddler, with matted curly dark brown hair, hollow cheeks, and rags for clothes. I froze in shock until I finally found the words to say, "Hello, my name's Cleo. . . what's yours?" I spoke as softly and calmly as possible. He blinked his pretty grey eyes at me. "Mateo." . . . Imagine a half-eaten apple flies through the air and smacks you on the head. There's nobody around and no way for anyone to hide. Then, it happens again the next day and you do some searching and find a small child. Would you take him in? Help him find his parents?

' 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 , 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 ...