Liam woke with the sunrise, stiff and sore. The storm had passed, but the sky was still heavy with gray clouds. The station was quieter now, and the workers said there was still no news of his mother.
Something inside him hardened—not with anger, but with determination. He would find her. No matter what.
He remembered the destination: his grandmother's house in a village called Greystone. It was two train rides away. He had no money, no ticket, and no adult to help him. But he had something better—hope.
Liam left the station quietly, slipping into the streets of a town he didn't know. He walked for hours, asking strangers for directions, looking for a way to get to Greystone. Some people ignored him. Others looked at him with pity. But a kind old woman gave him an apple, and a man pointed him toward a highway.
"If you walk long enough, you'll find someone heading that way," the man said with a shrug. "But it's a long journey, kid."
Liam nodded. "I don't care. I have to find my mom."
He walked until his legs ached, until his shoes were soaked with mud. Along the highway, he flagged down cars, asking for a ride. Most didn't stop. But eventually, a rusty red truck pulled over.
A woman in her thirties rolled down the window. "Where are you headed, kid?"
"Greystone," he said. "Please. I lost my mom. I need to get there."
She studied his face, and something softened in her eyes. "Alright. Hop in. I'm going halfway there. I can take you as far as Millford."
"Thank you," Liam whispered.
In the truck, she gave him half of her sandwich and asked about his story. He told her everything—the storm, the station, his mom.
"You're brave," she said. "Most kids would've just waited."
"I couldn't," Liam said. "What if she's waiting for me?"
She nodded. "Then you better not give up."