We recoil, turn away — it’s not our child.

The world keeps moving; no one stops to stare.

A sharp knock breaks the silence against the white door.

The black and blues hold their breath, steady but heavy.

Through rippled glass, a shadow stumbles closer.

One last breath, raise their heads. The door swings open.

He reads the story in their eyes,

— a scream tears free: Why?

His wife rushes out, mouth agape,

lost in shock, grasping for words.

Outside, cracked pavement and fleeting gazes—

people glance, then walk away.