At the station, everything unfolded quickly. The boy’s mother was screaming that I had tried to kidnap her child, waving her arms and demanding that I be “locked up immediately.”

She spoke with such confidence, as if she had started to believe it herself. I sat silently, holding the stroller close to me, and repeated only one thing over and over: I approached a child who was alone because he was scared and crying.

The police listened to both sides. Then they asked the boy a simple question. He quietly said that his mom had told him to sit and wait.

The cameras in the park confirmed it: the woman had left for almost twenty minutes, leaving her son alone, and I had only approached him and remained in plain sight the entire time.

When my husband arrived with the lawyer, the tone of the conversation changed completely. The kidnapping accusations collapsed like a house of cards. Instead, other questions arose for the mother — already about negligence.

We were released. Without apologies, but with a clear conclusion.

As I left the station, I understood the main thing: in a world where shouting is louder than facts, even kindness can look like a crime.