A hitch in the plan. There’s a traffic jam in Toronto that’s put us behind schedule. What a surprise.

In addition to the existing afternoon parking lot that is the downtown core, apparently the British royals are in town, where the latest power couple allegedly fell in love. Folks have lost their minds, they’re so excited. Crowds gathering just for a glimpse of two people. Attractive people, but still. No amount of beauty is worth the crush of bodies on the street and the general lack of respect for personal space.

Finally, we arrive at the bus station. As I disembark, a group of elderly women walk by wearing the most garish little hats I’ve ever seen. Someone near me whispers that the hat monstrosities are called fascinators, but that’s just ridiculous. I don’t see a fascinating thing about them.

Distracting, yes.

It’s because of these women in the hats that I lose sight of the mother and her two children.

As I move through the station, I keep an eye out for the young family. For a moment, I think they’re gone, but then I see them up ahead. The mom pauses by the door to take a phone call as the crowd surges past them. The baby is in a carrier strapped to the front of her body, and the boy is holding her free hand. The pacifier slips from the baby’s mouth, and she lets go of the boy’s hand for a moment to put it back in.

It happens so quickly.

The boy moves away, and in a split second, he’s out the door. I sprint through those doors and see Toque Man, with his hood up now, pulling the boy across the street. There are so many people around. Now that I’m outside, I shout for help. For the man to stop. People turn and stare, look to where I’m pointing. A few of them catch on and start running toward the boy, too.

The man drops the boy’s hand and takes off. He turns a corner and is out of sight. I turn the corner, too, but see nothing but a throng of people in the way. I don’t know this city well enough to anticipate where he would have gone, so I head back.

When the first bystanders get to the child, he’s crying.

By this time, the mother is outside, too. She’s holding the baby and running toward her son. There’s a look of intense relief on her face, but even from a distance I can see she’s still frightened.

I watch as she’s reunited with her child, as some of the other bystanders try to explain to her what they saw. A couple of people remember that I’m the one who sounded the alarm and gesture toward me, but I move back, toward the edge of the crowd.