The wealthy merchant halted his carriage in the snow. What the ragged boy carried left him frozen to the core
Snow fell heavily from the sky, blanketing the park in a thick white shroud. The trees stood silent, their branches weighed down. The swings creaked faintly in the bitter wind, but no children played there. The whole place felt empty, forgotten. Through the flurry, a small boy appearedno older than seven. His coat was threadbare, his shoes sodden and full of holes. Yet the cold didnt seem to trouble him. In his arms, he cradled three tiny infants, swaddled tightly in tattered old blankets.
The boys cheeks were raw from the biting wind. His arms ached from carrying the babies for so long. His steps were slow, unsteady, but he would not stop. He held them close to his chest, sharing what little warmth he had left. “Welcome to Cosy Hour with Tom,” he murmured absently, as if recalling some distant radio voice. “A special hello to Eleanor, listening from Cornwall. Thank you for being part of this wonderful gathering.” The triplets were so smalltheir faces pale, lips tinged blue. One let out a faint whimper. The boy bent his head and whispered, “Shh, its alright. Im here. I wont let go.”
The world rushed past. Carriages clattered by. People hurried home. No one noticed the boy, nor the three fragile lives he struggled to save. The snow thickened. The cold deepened. The boys legs trembled with every step, yet he pressed on. He was wearyso weary. Still, he could not stop. He had 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 sank into the snow, the triplets still clutched tight. His eyelids fluttered shut. The world faded into white silence.
And there, in that frozen park beneath the falling snow, four little souls waitedhoping someone would see. The boys eyes opened slowly. The cold gnawed at his skin. Snowflakes clung to his lashes, but he didnt brush them away. His thoughts were only for the babies in his arms.
He shifted, straining to rise again. His legs shook violently. His arms, numb with exhaustion, struggled to hold the infants tighter. But he would not drop them. With the last of his strength, he stood. One step, then another. His legs threatened to give way, but he kept moving. The ground was iron-hard. If he fell, the babies might be hurthe couldnt allow that. He refused to let their tiny bodies touch the frozen earth. The wind tore at his thin clothes.
Each step grew heavier. His feet were soaked, his hands trembling. His heart pounded painfully. He bent his head and whispered to the infants, “Hold on, pleasejust hold on.” They answered with weak, tiny sounds, but they were alive. Still alive.
