I felt so sorry for him—a seven-year-old youngster. I gave him a glass of water and a seat as I led him inside. I could see the fatigue in his eyes and the grime on his face as he drank. “Tommy, where do you live? Are you aware of your address? I made a gentle inquiry. He gave a headshake. “I was with my uncle, but he said he was no longer able to look after me. I’m abandoned on the street by him.

It turned out to be worse than I had thought. Though I had a million questions, my top concern was making sure Tommy was safe. I refrained from contacting the police so as not to frighten him any further. I comforted Tommy, “We’ll figure this out.” “Let’s feed and clean you up first.”

Tommy appeared more at ease after having a nice supper and taking a bath. He could even muster a half smile. My social services acquaintance took my call and promised to come over and help. I politely enquired further while I waited. Tommy shared some information about his life before hitting the streets, including the name of his mother, Lisa, and a painful story of abuse and desertion.