I always let my 8-year-old, Noah, play in the park below our balcony, where I could watch him. One day, CPS showed up, saying an old man kept reporting him. They spoke to Noah alone. When the worker came out, her eyes were watery. She softly said, “He told me something I think you need to hear.”

My heart dropped. I stood up from the kitchen chair, wiping my hands nervously on a towel. “Is he okay? Did something happen?”

She glanced at Noah, who was now on the couch, flipping through one of his dinosaur books. “He’s okay. But… do you know a man with a red cap? He says he talks to him often in the park.”

I blinked. “No, he’s not allowed to talk to strangers. I watch him every time he’s outside.”

She gave a careful nod. “He said the man in the red cap always sits on the same bench, brings sunflower seeds for the birds, and tells Noah stories about a boy who lost his mom.”

Something about that hit me in the chest.

“He told me,” she continued, voice low, “that the man said he used to have a son. And that the boy’s name was… Noah, too.”

I felt my throat tighten. “What does that mean? Is he in danger?”

She shook her head quickly. “No, no. Not in danger. But the man who kept calling? The old man who reported you for neglect? That’s the same man. He’s not trying to hurt your son. He’s… watching out for him. He thought no one was.”

I sat down slowly, trying to process everything.

Noah looked up and smiled at me. “Mama, can we make lemon cookies later?”

The caseworker smiled through misty eyes. “You have a good kid. He says you always watch him from the balcony. That you wave every time he looks up.”

“I do.”

She stood. “We’re closing the file. But maybe… maybe you and your son should talk about the man. I think he’s important.”

After she left, I made Noah a snack and sat beside him. “Baby, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said, nibbling on apple slices.