Drugs? A weapon? Stolen cash? If it was something valuable, it could be Dana’s ticket to a real meal. Maybe it was a “drop” meant for someone else to pick up later.
But if she got there first, no one would know. It could mean a month’s worth of food or a new pair of boots. Driven by necessity, she crawled out of her hiding spot. Her boots squelched in the mire as she hurried toward the spot where the woman had been. The rain lashed her face, washing away the dirt only to replace it with freezing water.
She reached the mound and shoved aside the wet cardboard and bags. Underneath lay a blanket that looked entirely out of place. Even in the dark, Dana could tell it was high-quality wool, soft to the touch, though now stained with mud. Dana reached out to touch it.
It was warm. And it moved. A gasp caught in her throat as the blanket shifted and a sound emerged—a sound she knew from the city parks. A cry. A sharp, desperate human cry.
Dana recoiled in shock, slipping and landing hard in the mud. She couldn’t believe it. A baby. That woman had left a living infant in the trash. The initial shock was replaced by a surge of adrenaline. Dana scrambled to her knees and pulled back the edge of the blanket.
There, exposed to the elements, lay a newborn. His pale skin was turning a frantic red from the biting cold.
“Oh, no, no, no!” Dana cried, her voice cracking with horror. “Who would do this to you?”
The baby was dressed in a soft white onesie with delicate embroidery, now splattered with muddy rainwater.
His tiny hands were balled into fists, punching at the air in a search for warmth. Dana didn’t hesitate. A protective instinct, forged in the harshness of her own abandonment, took over. She stripped off her heavy, wet coat so she wouldn’t get the baby any wetter.
Left in just a thin t-shirt and a frayed sweater, she scooped the infant up, pressing him against her chest, trying to share the little warmth left in her own thin body.
“I’ve got you! I’ve got you!” she whispered, rocking him awkwardly. “Please don’t cry!”
Feeling the human contact, the baby’s screams subsided into ragged whimpers.
Dana looked around, making sure she was truly alone. As she adjusted the blanket to shield the baby’s head from the wind, her fingers brushed against something cold and hard. It was a chain, glinting even in the low light. Dana leaned in to see what it was.
It was a piece of jewelry—a thick silver chain with a rectangular nameplate, also solid silver. It felt heavy and expensive. The woman, in her rush, must have forgotten to take it off or didn’t realize it was tangled in the baby’s clothes. Dana held the plate, wiping a smudge of dirt away with her thumb.
There was an engraving in elegant, block letters. Dana squinted, reading the name as a flash of lightning lit up the sky: “STERLING.” The girl’s breath hitched. That name hit her like a physical blow.
In this city, that name wasn’t just a word; it was an institution of power and wealth. Dana, who often slept on old newspapers, had seen it a thousand times in the headlines. Timothy and Elizabeth Sterling—the “Power Couple” of real estate and tech.
She remembered a magazine she’d found on a park bench a few weeks ago. The headline had read: “The Sterling Miracle: An Heir on the Way.” They had announced to the whole country that Elizabeth was pregnant. Dana had seen photos of the billionaire Timothy, though his wife was more private.
She looked down at the baby shivering in her arms, her mind racing.
“Are you… are you that baby?”
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