The winter in which a family's journey homeward began again.

(A touching story based on reality)

It was cold that afternoon.

Not only outside — it was cold in the world inside, too.

The kind of cold that is not made by the wind, but by decisions, papers, and seals.

The kind of cold that families feel when someone — far away from them — makes a decision about them without seeing their tears.

That's how László and his wife came to me.

Not to complain, not to beg.

With only one hope:

that someone would finally see them. Not just their file.

Their three children hadn't been able to sleep at home for months.

They lived in a strange little room, under the supervision of a caregiver,

who wouldn't even let their parents hug them.

What kind of world is this?

Where children can't go home, but yearn for home.

Where every Sunday they have to relive again and again:

"Mom and Dad came for us — but they won't let us go home."

The parents' faces were tired, but not broken.

Hope clung to them like cold hands to each other.

They only wanted what comes naturally to others:

for the family to be together at Christmas.

And I just listened to them.

I didn't just empathize with them.

I acted.

I described to them step by step what they had to do.

Precisely. Professionally. Transparently.

The order of submissions, the official points, the place of signature and seal.

I gave them a "roadmap" —

because often what parents lack is not hope,

but someone to show them:

where to go in this bureaucratic jungle.

I took the LeCsó Foundation papers and wrote the support in a language that the guardianship office understands, but the human voice was not lost in it.

Then the four of us sat there together:

the couple, and hope, and Me.

And I felt that something had moved.

Because one thing is certain:

The system sometimes makes mistakes.

Love never does.

And in a world where basic principles often disappear, I reminded them of something that should have been forgotten a long time ago:

1 House.

2 Parents (a man and a woman).

3 Children.

4 Wheels.

This is a family. And families should not be torn apart —

but strengthened.

If all goes well — and now there is a chance —

these three children will wake up at home again on Christmas.

In their own bed.

With their own Christmas tree.

Next to their own parents.

And if that happens, I will have a hand in it.

Not as an office, not as a decision-maker —

but as a person.

Because sometimes the goodness of one person shines brighter

than all the lights in any office building.