“Mom told me to wait here…” — the boy quietly repeated when the forest ranger found him near an old tree, and there was a note in the pocket of his jacket: after reading it, the man was deeply shocked 

Mark came across the boy by chance. He was walking along a familiar path, checking the area, when a dry branch cracked so loudly under his boot that a crow flew up from the nearby pine tree. Mark stopped, listened, and smiled to himself: after so many years in the forest, the habit of staying alert had never left him.

Ahead was a small clearing with a tree stump in the middle. He usually made a short stop there to drink tea from his thermos. But that day, a child was sitting on the stump.

A small boy in a dirty blue jacket, with slumped shoulders and a gaze that was far too calm. He wasn’t crying, wasn’t calling for help, didn’t look frightened. He was simply sitting and waiting, as if this was exactly how it was supposed to be.

— Hey, little one, — Mark said carefully, trying not to scare him. — What are you doing out here all by yourself?

The boy lifted his head and looked at him attentively.

— Mom told me to wait here, — he answered softly. — She’ll be back soon.

Mark looked around. The forest was empty. Only birds and the distant tapping of a woodpecker.

— And when did your mom leave? — he asked, crouching down to be at the child’s eye level.

The boy thought for a moment, swinging his legs.

— Yesterday… — he said uncertainly. — Or maybe the day before yesterday. I don’t remember anymore.

The jacket was damp, the hair tangled, and dark circles were visible under his eyes. Mark felt something tighten unpleasantly inside him.

— What’s your name?

— Tom.

— I’m Mark. I look after this forest. Do you know where your home is?

— Where the roof is red, — the boy said after a pause. — There’s a TV and a cat there. But the cat ran away when Uncle Alex started yelling.

Mark noticed that the pocket of the jacket was sticking out strangely.

— Tom, what do you have in your pocket? — he asked calmly.

— Mom gave it to me, — the boy took out a folded piece of paper. — She said to show it if she didn’t come back for a long time.

Mark’s hands trembled as he unfolded the paper. The handwriting was neat, but it was clear it had been written in a hurry.

He read the note twice and froze at what was written on it.  Continuation in the first comment 

There were only a few lines:

“If you have found this note and I haven’t returned, please take care of my child. Our home is not safe. I fear for his life. I may no longer be alive.”

Mark immediately called emergency services and the police. Based on the boy’s descriptions, they quickly found the house with the red roof. It was empty. But when the police went inside, there was no doubt left: they found the body of a woman in the house.

Later it was discovered that her husband, Tom’s stepfather, was a violent man. He abused the child, often shouted, and that day he killed his wife. He was planning to look for the boy, but the mother had managed to hide her son in the forest and leave the note.

The mother did not fail to return because she wanted to abandon her child. She simply knew that at home her son was in danger, and that strangers could turn out to be far kinder than those he lived with.