The morning I found the baby divided my life into a before and after. I was trudging home after a long night shift, thinking only of warmth and sleep, when I heard it—a thin, desperate cry threading through the noise of traffic.
At first, I almost ignored it. New motherhood can play tricks on your ears. But this sound… it was too real, too urgent. It led me to a bus stop, where a small, shivering bundle lay abandoned on a bench.
Inside the blanket was a newborn, barely a few days old, crying so hard his face was crimson. The street was empty. My heart pounded as I called out, “Hello? Whose baby is this?” No answer. Just wind.
I didn’t think. I acted. I scooped him up, wrapped my scarf around his tiny head, and ran home.
When I burst through the door, my mother-in-law Ruth froze mid-stir. “Miranda…” she whispered, eyes wide.
“There was a baby. Left alone,” I gasped.
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