The woman stood frozen outside the toy store.

Her son hugged his new toy against his chest, staring at the homeless boy walking away under the streetlights.

“Mom,” he whispered, “why doesn’t he have a birthday?”

The question broke something in her face.

The boy stopped near the corner, still holding his broken toy car like it was enough.

The woman looked at the teddy bear in the window.

Then at the gift bags she had bought without thinking.

She called out, but her voice came out too weak.

“Wait.”

The boy turned carefully, like he was afraid he had done something wrong.

The woman walked toward him and knelt on the sidewalk, her pink coat touching the dirty ground.

“When is your birthday?” she asked.

The boy looked down.

“I don’t know.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“My mom used to say she found me in winter,” he whispered. “So I pretend it’s whenever I see lights.”

The woman covered her mouth.

Her son stepped forward and held out the teddy bear from one of the bags.

“You can have this one.”

The boy didn’t take it at first.

He looked at the woman, waiting for her to change her mind.

She shook her head through tears.

“It’s yours.”

The boy hugged the teddy bear so gently, like it might vanish if he held it too hard.

And for the first time that night, he didn’t have to pretend the lights were for someone else.