This was quickly turning into something far beyond a simple case of a lost toddler. The mall cop and I exchanged bewildered glances, the eerie footage looping on the tiny screen. The boy, standing barefoot by the car, kept crying for his “other dad,” the one who didn’t talk with his mouth. Something about it sent chills rippling down my spine.
We decided to take the boy to the security office, hoping maybe someone would come looking for him or that we could make sense of this odd situation. He clung to my hand as we walked, his tiny fingers sticky with sweat and fear. He seemed so small and fragile against the backdrop of towering adults and bustling shoppers.
Once inside, the security team offered him a juice box and a teddy bear. He settled in a chair, his tears ebbing into quiet sniffles, but his eyes remained wide and vigilant, scanning every face as if hoping to recognize someone, anyone, as familiar.
