I turned the photograph over again, my hands trembling.
The handwriting on the back said:
“If you’re reading this, please make sure my little boy never grows up believing nobody wanted him.”
Below the message was a name.
Margaret.
I looked at the little boy.
“Sweetheart, who gave you this photograph?”
He hugged his knees and whispered, “Mommy gave it to me before she went away.”
“Where is your daddy, honey?”
He stared at the pavement for several seconds.
“Daddy said he had to find money for my birthday cake. He left yesterday morning. He told me to wait here because he knows where to find me.”
My heart broke.
I looked around the busy street. There were people everywhere, but this little boy had nobody.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Oliver.”
“Well, Oliver, I have an idea. Would you let me buy you a birthday cake?”
His eyes widened.
“With candles?”
“Of course. Four candles, one for every year.”
For the first time, he smiled.
I took him to a nearby bakery. When the woman behind the counter heard it was his birthday, she brought out a beautiful little chocolate cake and refused to accept any money.
Oliver clapped his tiny hands.
But just as we were about to leave, an elderly man standing near the entrance suddenly dropped his shopping bag.
He stared at Oliver.
Then he slowly approached us, tears filling his eyes.
“Where did you get that photograph?” he asked.
I looked down.
Oliver was holding it tightly against his chest.
The old man covered his mouth and whispered:
“That little boy… he’s my grandson.”
Oliver looked up at him.
And then he asked five words that made the entire bakery go silent:
“Are you the grandpa who left Mommy?”
The old man’s face turned pale.
