They left him like an inconvenience, not a child. Right there in the parking lot of a motorcycle dealership, the foster parents shoved a small boy out of their car, peeled away, and didn’t look back. Taped to the back of his jacket was a note that said they “couldn’t handle him anymore.” That was it. No goodbye. No explanation. Just abandonment. I noticed him because he didn’t belong there. A skinny kid in dinosaur pajamas, rocking back and forth, clutching a beat-up stuffed dragon while grown adults stepped around him like he was part of the concrete. I was...
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