It was almost 90 degrees out, and folks were gathered for the neighborhood block party. Music, food trucks, a bounce house barely holding itself together—typical summer scene. I was working the community outreach table with two officers, just trying to keep the vibe relaxed. No one wants to see a badge unless there’s a good reason.

That’s when this little girl walked right up to us. Couldn’t have been more than three, maybe four.

Didn’t say a word. Just looked up at us, blinked once, and handed the paper over.

The other officer laughed, thinking it was something silly—maybe a kid drawing or a thank-you card.

But as soon as I opened it, everything shifted.

It wasn’t from her.

It was from her mom.

The handwriting was rushed. Barely legible. But it was clear enough.

She said she couldn’t carry her daughter anymore. That she didn’t have food, couldn’t keep her safe, and didn’t know what else to do. Said the block party was the last place she knew where someone might notice her child without calling CPS immediately.

Said she hoped someone in uniform would do the right thing.

I looked around, trying to spot anyone nearby watching us. No one stood out.