I was walking down Shelac Ave, after just helping out a vulgar girl with her groceries when I saw him. There were plenty of kids playing in the fountain, but he stuck out. That was him, my nephew.
In my sudden rush to do anything, I ran towards Dreamwood Terrace, tripped in a pothole, and fell onto the sidewalk. Some of the kids saw and giggled, but he didn't. Not like he would know who I was, but better safe than sorry. I got to my apartment, and watched him from the window. The little chap was eventually taken back to the daycare by the staff, but at least I had a direction to go in.
I walked over to my desk and pulled out a letter, addressed to me from my brother's lawyer. Discarding the stationary stating my brothers death and his final wishes, I found it. The photograph of my only nephew, Winsley Murphy. He had a round face plastered with freckles, with a mop of red hair that was far long for a five year-old, if you asked me. But there was no mistaking it, that was my boy. Going back to the letter, I reread all the important parts.
My brother and his wife had both died in a shooting, leaving there only son with a small sum of money. They had set up for the son to move in with a sister on the wife's side until I could come get him, but then the lawyer encountered a problem. Apparently she felt that she was the rightful guardian for Winsley, ignoring the last wishes of my brother, and moved into hiding to keep her custody of the boy. I had finally found him here, but then I realized.
I had no idea what to do next.