“Ma-ma-a-a-a.”
I turn my head, searching for the source of the loud sound. Across from my car, in the snowdrift, a little girl sits there, plopping onto her knees—wearing a pink snowsuit and a hat with two pom-poms. Her mittens on a string drag through the snow as she tries to get up. I rush over and help her stand up purely on instinct. My heart squeezes like under a press, unable to bear it—then it bursts.
Even for me, an adult man.
Where’s her mom?
I grab the girl by the arm and pull her to myself.
“Ma-ma,” she says, now more weakly, not screaming—she must be exhausted. She looks at me in confusion, reaching for the air with her little palms.
“She… fell.”
“Gone?” I ask—more to myself than to her.
This is bad.
I lift my wrist, glance at my Rolex to check the time. I don’t have much— in fifteen minutes there’s an important meeting. And it wasn’t in my plans to save a little child and search for her irresponsible mother.
But I can’t just leave.
“And what am I supposed to do with you?”