“How long have you been here?”
“Like five minutes? Maybe,” he said. “It felt longer.”
“No. Just him. On the bench. Wrapped in that sheet.”
Anger and heartbreak collided inside me.
Someone left this baby out here. On a night like this.
Sirens cut through the cold air. An ambulance and a patrol car pulled up, lights reflecting off the snow.
Two EMTs jumped out with bags and a thick thermal blanket. A police officer followed, jacket half-zipped.
“Over here!” I shouted, waving.
They rushed toward us.
One EMT knelt immediately, eyes scanning the baby. “Temp’s low,” he muttered as he gently lifted him from Jax’s arms. “Let’s get him inside.”
The baby let out a weak cry as he was carried away.
The officer turned to us.
“What happened?”
“I was walking through the park,” Jax said. “He was on the bench, wrapped in that.” He nodded toward the discarded blanket. “I called 911 and tried to keep him warm.”
The officer’s gaze flicked over him—pink hair, piercings, black clothes, no jacket in the freezing air. I saw the judgment flash.
Then the realization.
He looked at me.
“That’s what happened,” I said evenly. “He gave the baby his jacket.”
“You probably saved that baby’s life.”
Jax stared at the ground.
“I just didn’t want him to die,” he muttered.
They took our information, asked a few final questions, then left. The red tail lights vanished into the night.
Back inside, my hands kept shaking until I wrapped them around a mug of tea.
Jax sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his hot chocolate.
“You okay?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“I keep hearing him,” he said. “That little cry.”
“You did everything right,” I told him. “You found him. You called. You stayed. You kept him warm.”
“I didn’t think,” he said. “I just… heard him and my feet moved.”
“That’s usually what heroes say,” I said.
He rolled his eyes.
“Please don’t tell people your son is a ‘hero,’ Mom,” he said. “I still have to go to school.”
We went to bed late.
I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about that tiny baby—blue lips, shaking shoulders.
Was he okay? Did he have anyone?
The next morning, I was halfway through my first cup of coffee when there was a knock at the door. Not gentle. Firm. Official.
My stomach dropped.
I opened it to a police officer in uniform.
He looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes. Jaw tight.
“Are you Mrs. Collins?”
“Yes,” I said cautiously.
“I’m Officer Daniels,” he said, showing his badge. “I need to speak with your son about last night.”
My mind raced to the worst possibilities.
“Is he in trouble?” I asked.
“No,” Daniels said. “Nothing like that.”
I called upstairs. “Jax! Down here for a second!”
He came down in sweats and socks, pink hair a messy cloud, toothpaste still on his chin. He spotted the officer and froze.
“I didn’t do anything,” he blurted.
Daniels’ mouth twitched.
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