Around 9:30 p.m., after tucking in my youngest child for the night, the phone rang. It was an unexpected call from 911—dispatch reported a silent call, likely made by a child. The location traced back to a modest home nearby.
When I knocked on the door, a little boy—barefoot, wearing pajama shorts, and clutching a phone—answered with a mix of anxiety and determination. He told me he hadn’t eaten all day. Inside, his five-year-old sister was asleep in the back room. Their home was clean but nearly empty, with little food left in the fridge—just an old jug of milk and a few ketchup packets.
I asked where their parents were, and the boy, Mateo, simply shrugged. He explained that their mother worked two jobs and sometimes couldn’t make it home. That day, she had left early for a morning shift at a local diner. At just eight years old, Mateo had been caring for his younger sister, Sofia, doing his best to ensure she ate—even if he went without.
I called for assistance—not for arrests, but to bring food. A paramedic named Rosa soon arrived with a brown paper bag of sandwiches. Her warm demeanor calmed Mateo immediately. He carefully set one sandwich aside for his sister and began eating his own, visibly relieved. It was a moment that reminded me how easy it is to take basic needs for granted.
Rosa and I agreed we couldn’t leave the children alone that night. She volunteered to stay until social services arrived and even attempted to reach their mother. Mateo mentioned she worked at Joe’s Diner, and dispatch confirmed she was there—distraught after realizing she had left her phone at home and couldn’t check on her kids.
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