Who is the teller of this story? Is it the little boy, nose pressed to the window, hand outstretched toward his mother? Is it the mother, carrying the weight of guilt wherever she goes? Or is it the other woman, wanting to help, to serve, to have purpose, and yet doesn't realise that it is in fact her, who needs the most help?
For it is she, guilty of a youthful innocence and childlike faith in life's course, who suffers the most. She is the only character in our story, and the only one who can help herself.