Tattered Red

A vicious trail of foster homes filled with callous people and cold beds. And now this…

The boy stared at his tattered suitcase. Once vibrant and red, it bore the scars of a decade on the run.

But it was all he had. All his belongings packed neatly into a small, scuffed rectangle. Now even that was being kept from him.

He tugged on the tiny lock, fighting back tears. How could he lose the key to his only possession?

Then, a hand on his shoulder. Firm yet comforting. The voice, even more so.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. We’ll find it…”