There was a note tucked into the blanket:
“I couldn’t do it. Please keep him safe.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I whispered. “Sweetheart, who could have left you behind?”
“I couldn’t do it. Please keep him safe.”
He didn’t answer, of course, but his tiny fists clenched tighter. My heart surged. I pulled him into my arms and wrapped him in my jersey. My hands were wet and rough. My uniform smelled like bleach, but none of that mattered.
“I’ve got you,” I said, gently lifting him into my arms. “You’re safe now. I got you.”
The bathroom door creaked open behind me. A man froze in the doorway. He was a trucker — tall, broad-shouldered. He had dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept well in days.
“You’re safe now. I got you.”
His eyes locked onto the bundle in my arms.
“Is that… a baby?” he asked, voice cracking mid-sentence.
“Yes,” I said quickly, adjusting the towel around the boy. “He was in the crawl space behind the bin. I need you to call 911 right now. I’m just trying to give him some body warmth.”
The man stepped inside without hesitation. He pulled off his jacket and threw it to me, then yanked his phone out of his pocket. A name patch read Tim on his shirt.
