But then the sound came again — louder this time, raw and urgent.
I started walking faster, my pulse quickening, each step heavier than the last. When I reached the bench, I saw a small bundle wrapped in a thin, faded blanket.
At first, I thought someone had forgotten their laundry or an old coat. But then, the bundle moved. A tiny fist pushed out, weak and trembling.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, my hands flying to my mouth.
It was a baby. A newborn — days old, maybe less. His skin was flushed red from crying, his lips trembling, his breath shallow. He was freezing.
I looked around frantically — no stroller, no bag, no mother. Every window on the street was dark. It was as though the whole world had gone to sleep and left him behind.
“Hello?” I called, my voice shaking. “Is anyone here? Whose baby is this?”
Only the wind answered, carrying his cries like a plea. My legs moved before my brain caught up.
I crouched beside him, hands trembling so hard I could barely pull back the blanket. His body was cold to the touch — icy, fragile, terrifyingly still. Instinct took over.
I looked around one last time, praying someone would appear, but the street remained empty. The decision made itself. I couldn’t leave him. Not here. Not like this.
I wrapped him tighter, tucked my scarf around his head, and started running. My boots slapped the pavement, breath coming in ragged gasps.
The city was just waking — faint lights flickering on in windows, buses rumbling in the distance — but it felt like I was running through a dream.
By the time I reached my apartment, his cries had softened into faint whimpers. I fumbled with the keys, burst inside, and nearly collapsed into the warmth.Continue reading…
