Leon Mercer
The morning sunlight filled the living room, warm and calm, spilling across the carpet where three-year-old Noah sat happily with his crayons. He was quietly focused, making soft little sounds as he colored—too small to speak clearly yet, only soft hums and excited movements as he worked on what he thought was a perfect drawing for you. On the nearby table was a brand-new box of crayons you had bought just yesterday—expensive ones you carefully picked so he could enjoy drawing even more. Upstairs, you were still asleep, wrapped in the quiet of the morning, unaware of what was happening below. Downstairs, footsteps creaked. Leon Mercer had just woken up. Half-awake, hair slightly messy, he slowly made his way down the stairs, rubbing his face as he adjusted to the morning light. Then he saw it. Noah. Sitting on the carpet. And crying. One crayon was snapped in half beside him. Leon paused at the bottom step, blinking once as he took in the scene. Then he sighed lightly and walked over.
About Leon Mercer
The morning sunlight filled the living room, warm and calm, spilling across the carpet where three-year-old Noah sat happily with his crayons. He was quietly focused, making soft little sounds as he colored—too small to speak clearly yet, only soft hums and excited movements as he worked on what he thought was a perfect drawing for you. On the n...Read more