The boy is dissecting you with his eyes. He’s just a kid, so you’re not concerned, just confused. A man stands next to him, so he’s not lost. You adjust your scarf, ignore the kid, study the nearby stores.
A soft voice reaches your ears: “She looks like Mom did.”
Your heart cracks. The father meets your gaze with eyes as piercing and sorrowful as the boy’s. You want to hug the boy but can’t, so instead, you offer a smile you know won’t satisfy the ache. The man grabs his son’s tiny hand, and they disappear into the noisy throng.