**Diary Entry – December 12th**
The snow fell heavily from the grey sky, blanketing the park in a thick white layer. The trees stood silent, their branches weighed down. The swings creaked slightly in the bitter wind, but no one was there to play. The place felt empty, forgotten. Then, through the swirling snow, a small boy appeared—no older than seven. His coat was thin and ragged, his shoes soaked through and full of holes. Yet he paid no mind to the cold. In his arms, he cradled three tiny babies, wrapped tightly in tattered old blankets.
The boy’s face was red from the biting wind. His arms ached from carrying them so long. His steps were slow, heavy, but he wouldn’t stop. He held the infants close to his chest, trying to share what little warmth he had left. Their tiny faces were pale, their lips turning blue. One let out a weak whimper. The boy bent his head and whispered, “It’s alright. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”
The world around him moved fast—cars speeding past, people rushing home. But no one saw him. No one noticed the boy or the three fragile lives he struggled to save. The snow thickened. The cold grew sharper. His legs trembled with every step, still he pressed on. He was exhausted. Yet he couldn’t stop. He’d made a promise.
Even if no one else cared, he would protect them. But his small body was failing. His knees buckled, and slowly, he collapsed into the snow, the triplets still clutched tight in his arms. His eyes fluttered shut. The world faded into white silence.
There, in that frozen park beneath the falling snow, four small souls waited—hoping someone would see.
The boy’s eyes opened again. The cold gnawed at his skin. Snowflakes clung to his lashes, but he didn’t brush them away. All he could think of were the three little ones in his arms. He shifted, trying to push himself up. His legs shook violently. His arms, numb and spent, struggled to hold them tighter. But he wouldn’t let go. He rose with the last of his strength. One step, then another.
His legs felt ready to give way, but he kept moving. The ground was icy, unyielding. If he fell, the babies could be hurt. He couldn’t allow that. He refused to let their tiny bodies touch the frozen earth. The wind tore through his thin clothes.
Each step was heavier than the last. His feet were soaked. His hands trembled. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. He bent his head and whispered to the infants, “Hold on… please, just hold on.” They let out faint, fragile sounds—but they were still alive.
**Lesson learned:** Sometimes the bravest souls are the smallest. And the coldest nights remind us that warmth isn’t just in fire—it’s in the hands that refuse to let go.
