The Forgotten Child

The mall was alive with movement—voices overlapping, the whir of shopping carts, the beeping of registers. People passed by, weaving in and out of stores, lost in their own worlds. You weren’t particularly focused on any of it, just walking alongside Hannibal and Will, the rhythm of their steps falling in sync with yours.

But then you saw him.

A little boy, no older than two, standing by a row of carts, left alone.

At first, it didn’t seem real. Maybe his mother was just a step away, maybe someone had turned away for only a moment. But then the seconds dragged on, and no one came.

His lip wobbled. His tiny fingers clutched the metal of the cart, like he was holding onto the only steady thing in his world. His round eyes scanned the crowd, searching—waiting—but finding nothing.

Then, the break. A deep inhale, the tremble of a breath, and the first tear slipping down his cheek.

Your chest tightened.

It was the kind of sadness that reached somewhere deep inside of you, a pull you didn’t want to acknowledge. The type of thing that made something ache in your ribs. You knew what it was to be small in a world that didn’t always look back at you, to feel lost even when surrounded by people.

You tried to suppress it. Your expression didn’t change much, your posture remained composed, but your steps had already slowed. Will and Hannibal noticed.

Will followed your line of sight, his brows furrowing. "What’s—" But then he saw, too.

Hannibal didn’t say anything at first, only tilted his head slightly as he observed. But when you took a step forward, he moved with you, and so did Will.

The boy let out a hiccuped sob.

You knelt down in front of him, making sure not to startle him. Your voice was soft, careful. "Hey, sweetheart," you murmured. "Where’s your mama?"

He sniffled, his little fingers twitching at his sides. He wasn’t wailing, but the quiet distress was somehow worse. Like he wasn’t sure he was even allowed to cry.

Something about that hit you harder than you wanted to admit.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. "It’s okay. She’ll be back soon. We can wait together, yeah?"

Still, he hesitated, his big eyes searching yours. And then, after a moment, he lifted his small arms toward you.

You didn’t think. You just reacted.

Scooping him up, you adjusted him onto your hip with practiced ease. He curled into you almost immediately, his little hands gripping onto your clothing, his head tucking under your chin. He was warm, small, and completely trusting.

You rubbed his back lightly, rocking him in place. "You’re okay," you murmured, voice instinctively soothing. "We’ll wait for her right here, okay?"

Hannibal watched the scene with quiet interest. His gaze flicked between you and the child, his expression unreadable, but there was something thoughtful in the way he observed you.

Will, on the other hand, seemed more affected by your reaction. His arms were crossed, lips pressed together as if holding back words. When you glanced at him, he looked at you with something close to understanding. Like he saw something in you that maybe even you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You glanced away, focusing instead on the boy’s steadying breaths. "Just… ridiculous," you muttered. "That someone would leave their kid like this."

Hannibal’s voice cut through smoothly. "Not everyone is fit for parenthood," he said. "Yet many still assume the role."

The words sat uncomfortably with you. Not because they were wrong, but because they were too sharp, too clear.

You didn’t want to think about it.

And then, just as suddenly as she had vanished, the mother reappeared.

She strolled up, holding a bag from one of the stores, looking mildly surprised but not at all concerned. "Oh," she said, blinking at the sight of you holding her child. "He’s fine."

You stared at her.

"Fine?" you echoed. The word sat strangely in your mouth.

She sighed, as if she were the one being inconvenienced. "I just stepped inside for a minute. He knows to wait."

You adjusted the boy in your arms, steadying your tone. "He’s two," you said. "You left him standing alone in a crowded mall."

She shrugged. "He’s not hurt, is he?"

That made something burn in you.

Before you could respond, Hannibal’s voice cut in, deceptively calm. "He was crying," he said. "That is harm enough."

The woman blinked at him, shifting uncomfortably. She glanced between him and Will, perhaps realizing for the first time that she wasn’t just dealing with one person.

Will scoffed, arms still crossed. "Yeah, no big deal," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just a little kid, terrified and alone. No problem."

The woman’s expression hardened. "I know my child," she said, defensive now. "And you don’t need to tell me how to parent."

You took a slow breath, forcing yourself to stay even. "I’m not trying to attack you," you said. "But he was scared. Just... be more careful next time, okay?"

A beat of silence.

Then, with a roll of her eyes, she reached for her son. "Come on, let’s go."

You hesitated before handing him over. He didn’t cry again, but he looked at you one last time, his little fingers flexing like he wanted to hold onto something.

You gave him a small smile, brushing a hand over his hair. "Be good, sweetheart," you murmured.

And then, just like that, they were gone.

The silence between you, Hannibal, and Will lingered.

Will exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Jesus," he muttered. "Some people shouldn’t have kids."

Hannibal hummed in quiet agreement but said nothing. Instead, his gaze lingered on you.

You still felt the warmth of the child in your arms, even though he was gone.

Will nudged you lightly, his tone softer now. "You okay?"

You blinked, rolling your shoulders slightly. "Yeah," you said, shaking off the feeling. "I just... can’t believe she just left him."

Hannibal’s voice was smooth, unintrusive. "You cared quite deeply."

The statement sat in the air, heavy in its simplicity.

You only sighed, rubbing your temple. "He just needed someone to be there."

Hannibal studied you for another long moment, then simply inclined his head. "Indeed."

And with that, you moved on.