“Mom… I’m cold.”
Bruno’s weak voice barely filled the room.
His small body burned with fever under a thin, worn blanket, shivering on a stained mattress while rainwater leaked through the ceiling, dripping steadily into a bucket Emma had set there days ago. The air smelled of damp walls, leftover soup, and quiet desperation. Every inch of that room told …
👇 👇 👇 👇 👇
