A small boy sat alone in his room, painting a little picture.
His mother, his father, himself, and his little sister were there,
and he colored it carefully, as if trying to make it warmer than reality.
Suddenly…
the sound of arguing came from outside.
He stopped his hand from painting.
He hesitated for a moment, then quietly got up and walked toward the door.
He opened it slowly… peeking inside, trying to understand what was happening.
He opened the door a little more…
the voices grew louder.
He didn't catch all the words,
but the tone of anger was enough to make his heart tighten.
He saw his parents standing opposite each other.
Their faces were tense, and their voices were nothing like the sounds he had heard before going to sleep.
He stepped back without realizing it.
His small fingers pressed against the doorframe,
as if trying to secure himself in a place that was no longer safe.
He looked at his hands…
they were stained with paint.
He thought for a moment:
Why can't things stay as beautiful as in my drawings?
Then…
the door clicked softly behind him.
He returned to his room slowly,
carrying a picture that no longer resembled his family as it had minutes ago.
He sat down again,
staring at the drawing…
and did not continue painting.
He moved away from the door…
sat on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest,
while the sounds of the argument still reached him, pounding against the walls.
He thought long and hard.
He didn't understand money well,
but he understood one thing:
every fight starts with a lack.
Suddenly, he lifted his head,
as if a small idea had lit up inside him.
If money is the problem…
then I can help.
Before the night fully fell,
and before anyone noticed his absence,
he got up quietly.
He put on his old coat,
opened the door very slowly,
and slipped out of the house without making a sound.
He didn't look back.
He believed it would be simple…
he would work,
earn a little money,
and return.
Then…
the arguments would stop.
He did not know
that this small step
would be the first step on a path from which he would never return the same.
The small boy stepped into the street,
the cold biting his skin, darkness wrapping around him like a thick curtain.
Every step was silent, as if etched on the cold stone pavement.
He stopped briefly, looking at the house he had lived in for years,
feeling the weight of leaving, but knowing there was no turning back.
Then, from the shadows, he saw something familiar…
his little sister walking alone, her natural curiosity guiding her fearlessly.
He stared at her in shock,
realizing he could not leave her alone in this cruel world.
He approached her, speaking in a soft voice:
"Come with me… you can't stay here by yourself."
She hesitated for a moment, then walked toward him with small steps.
It was the first time he realized that strength was not just a weapon,
but a responsibility toward those you love.
With every step away from the house,
he began to understand that this moment…
was not just an escape,
but the first step toward a fate greater than any child could imagine.