#dalimsharma

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I was at Target yesterday with my two daughters, just doing our usual grocery run. We were in the cereal aisle when I heard this tiny voice behind me say, "Excuse me, can you help me reach the Cheerios?"

I turned around and saw this little girl, maybe four years old, standing there alone. She had messy hair and was wearing clothes that looked like they hadn't been washed in days.

"Of course, sweetie," I said, grabbing the box for her. That's when she looked up at me with these huge brown eyes and whispered, "Thank you, Mommy."

I froze. My daughters were right there, and they heard it too. They looked confused, but I just smiled and handed her the cereal.

The little girl stayed close to us as we shopped. Every few minutes, she'd ask me questions like, "Mommy, can we get cookies?" or "Mommy, do you think Daddy would like this?"

I kept looking around for her parents, but no one seemed to be looking for her. My daughters started getting protective, holding her hands and including her in their conversations about which snacks to pick.

She told us her name was Zara and that she was "shopping for her new house." When my youngest asked where her mommy was, Zara just shrugged and said, "I don't know. That's why I'm looking for one."

My heart started breaking right there in the snack aisle.

Then Zara did something that made me panic. She started putting random expensive items in our cart – fancy chocolates, premium ice cream, organic everything. When I gently told her we couldn't afford all that, she looked confused and said, "But my last mommy always bought the expensive stuff. She said it meant she loved me more."

I quietly put the items back while my daughters distracted her. That's when I noticed Zara had a small backpack with her – the kind kids take to sleepovers. But it was stuffed so full the zipper was barely holding.

"Zara, what's in your backpack?" I asked gently.

She opened it proudly. Inside were three different family photos – none with the same people. A toothbrush, some crackers, and a worn stuffed elephant. "These are all my families," she said, showing me the photos. "I keep them so I remember what having a mommy feels like."

My daughters went quiet. Even they could sense something was very wrong.

Zara then asked if she could call me later. "My last mommy gave me her phone number, but when I called, a man answered and said no one named Mommy lived there anymore."

I was trying to figure out what to say when I heard a woman's voice calling out frantically.

"Zara! Zara, where are you?"

The little girl's face lit up, and she ran toward the voice. I followed, expecting to see a relieved mother.

Instead, I saw a woman in scrubs who looked completely exhausted. She scooped up Zara and immediately started apologizing to me.

"I'm so sorry if she bothered you. I'm her social worker, and we just came from a really difficult placement meeting. She's been asking every woman she meets to be her mommy today."

That's when it hit me. This little girl had been calling random women "Mommy" all day, desperately hoping someone would say yes.

The social worker continued, "Her foster placement fell through this morning. She's been in the system for two years, and she just wants a family so badly. When she saw you with your daughters, she said you looked like the kind of mommy she's been praying for."

Zara looked back at me one more time and waved. "Bye, Mommy. Thank you for shopping with me. I hope I find you again someday."

I had to excuse myself to the bathroom after that. My daughters asked why I was crying, and I told them sometimes grown-ups cry when they meet really brave little girls.