The cry came again—softer now—coming from a bus stop nearby.
I ran.
At first glance, I thought it was a bundle of clothes. Then a tiny hand moved beneath a thin blanket.
A newborn.
His skin was icy. His lips were tinged blue. His face was strained from crying.
I shouted for help. I called out for a parent. No one answered.
Without thinking, I lifted him against my chest, wrapped my scarf around his head, and ran as fast as I could.
By the time I reached my apartment, my legs were shaking—but the baby’s cries had softened, soothed by warmth.
Peggy dropped what she was holding.
“Cate… what is this?”
“I found him outside. Alone. Freezing.”
She didn’t hesitate. She touched his cheek gently.
“Feed him. Now.”
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