She whispered, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “Are you the Sterling heir?”
The thoughts swirled in her head, refusing to settle.
If this was the child of the most famous millionaires in the state, what was he doing at a landfill in a storm? Was the woman in the car his mother, or someone who had kidnapped him? Why would she leave him to die among the trash? Dana tried to recall the woman’s face, but it was a blur of panic and rain.
She’d heard stories on the street about the rich—sometimes, if a child wasn’t “perfect” or if there was a scandal, they were discarded. She looked at the baby’s face, searching for a flaw. He was perfect. He was beautiful, even in the middle of the rot.
“It doesn’t matter who you are,” Dana said, her voice finding a sudden strength. “Rich or poor, nobody deserves to be out here.”
The baby whimpered again—a weak sound that suggested the cold was winning. Dana knew she had to move, or they would both freeze.
She tucked the silver chain into her pocket. It was the only proof of his identity they had. Dana stood up, carrying the precious weight with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. Her hunger was still there, but it was secondary now to her mission.
“Let’s go,” she said, picking her way through the labyrinth of trash toward the distant city lights. “You aren’t sleeping in a dump tonight. I promise.”
As she walked through the rain with the possible heir to a fortune pressed to her chest, Dana couldn’t stop thinking about that dark-haired woman. Her profile was burned into her memory like a photograph.
If she saw her again, she would know her. Tomorrow, she would find the Sterling estate. But first, they had to survive the night. The rain had turned into a persistent, freezing mist that soaked through everything.
The wind kept up its assault, howling through the empty streets. The baby, whom Dana hadn’t yet dared to name, started crying again. This time, it wasn’t the sharp cry of cold. It was a rhythmic, demanding wail. Dana knew that sound better than anyone.
It was the voice of hunger.
“Just a little longer, please,” she whispered, walking as fast as her taped-up boots would allow.
Dana understood the gravity of the situation. Her body heat could keep him alive for a few hours, but without food, he would fade quickly.
A newborn couldn’t eat what she ate. No scraps of a sandwich or stale bread. He needed milk—formula. Dana stopped under the awning of a closed storefront to get out of the wind.
Holding the baby with one arm, she dug into her coat pockets with the other. Her numb fingers pulled out a handful of change and a few crumpled, damp bills. It was everything she had—the result of three days of scavenging and carrying groceries for people at the market. She’d been saving it for new socks and maybe a hot burger.
Her stomach roared at the thought of food. She counted the money twice, hoping for a miracle. It wasn’t much, barely enough to get her through a couple of days if she was careful. She looked at the baby.
His face was twisted in distress, his tiny mouth instinctively searching for something to nurse on.
“You win,” Dana said with a sad smile, clenching the money in her fist. “Today’s your day.”
She knew of a 24-hour CVS about five blocks away.
The walk felt like miles. Every shadow felt like a threat. When she reached the drugstore, she hesitated at the automatic doors. She knew the unwritten rules: people like her weren’t welcome, especially at night.
She pushed through anyway. The sterile fluorescent lights stung her eyes, but the warmth of the store was a relief. The welcome ended there. A young clerk behind the counter looked up from his phone, his boredom instantly turning to disgust.
“Hey, kid, out!” he barked, waving her away. “We don’t allow loitering. Move it before I call the cops.”
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