“I’m sorry,” it read. “I can’t raise this child anymore. I’m tired, I don’t have the strength to start life over again with another mouth to feed.” — the note was written in trembling handwriting.
For a few seconds, no one could move. Then we rushed in. The scene was heartbreaking: the little boy was sitting silently, holding his newborn sister, her tiny body wrapped in a hospital blanket — fragile, yet alive.
The boy looked up at us with teary eyes and asked softly:
“Can we stay here? I’ll take care of her, I promise.”
He hugged his sister, kissed her forehead, and whispered:
“Don’t cry, please. We’ll find someone who will love us.”
No one could hold back their tears. The child’s quiet bravery was overwhelming. The mother had disappeared without a trace — heartbroken, scared, exhausted. Maybe she believed that leaving her children here would give them a chance for a better life.
That decision could be judged, but no one knew the full pain behind it.
