I remember the moment I heard there was a girl alone at playground duty. It was a crisp autumn evening, and I was still sipping lukewarm coffee at my desk when the report crackled over the radio.
A bystander had found a young child, no more than six years old, waiting alone. She simply said, “Mommy will pick me up later.” But nobody showed up as dusk settled in.
I’m Officer Davis, and in all my years on the force, I’ve seen many heartbreaking cases. Yet something about this little girl tugged at me immediately. By the time I arrived, she was perched on a swing, her eyes scanning the distance. It wasn’t every day you saw a girl alone at playground in the chill of approaching nightfall. She wore a pink jacket, two pigtails, and clutched a scruffy teddy bear. I crouched down to her eye level and introduced myself, asking for her name. She just stared at me, confident her mother would come.
