“He’s safe now,” one of them assured me, gently lifting the baby from my arms. “You did the right thing.”
Still, as I packed a small bag of diapers, wipes, and bottles of milk for him, tears blurred my vision.
The officer smiled kindly.
“We’ll take good care of him.”
When the door closed, silence swallowed the room. I sat on the couch, clutching one of the tiny socks he’d kicked off, and cried until Ruth wrapped me in her arms.
The next day passed in a fog. I fed my son, changed him, and tried to take a nap, but my thoughts kept drifting to that baby.
Was he in a hospital? With social services? Would anyone claim him?
