Strangers on a railway platform

He stands on the railway platform where we've stopped en route to Toronto, his dirty blonde hair blowing on his thinning head. A child not yet two propped in the crook of one arm, and another, a year older perhaps, holding onto his free hand. His bare legs move restlessly in his sandals, telling strangers more than he might care to share.
As the clock ticks, his face fills with worry. The children, who came in excitement to meet someone, have now directed that enthusiasm to the train.
He scans the horizon several times over. It's only been minutes, but the sky seems to have darkened.
The train begins to move on. They just stand there. Mother had decided she wasn't coming back home after all.