“Hey…” he whispered, pressing his hand against the hot window. “Hey…”
No response.
He looked around quickly.
Cars passed. A shopping cart rattled somewhere. A distant voice called out—but no one was paying attention. No one seemed to see what he was seeing.
He knocked on the glass.
“Hello?!”
Nothing.
He ran to the driver’s side and yanked the handle.
Locked.
He tried the back door.
Locked.
He pressed his face closer to the window. The baby’s movements were slowing now, its cries weaker, almost gone.
A cold wave of fear rushed through him.
School was right there—just across the street. He could still make it. If he ran.
But the thought of turning his back… of walking away…
He couldn’t.
“I can’t leave you,” he whispered.
His chest tightened. His fingers curled into fists.
Time felt like it was slipping through his hands.
He looked around again, more desperately this time.
Still no one.
No adult.
No help.
Just him.
Ethan swallowed hard.
Then he spotted it—a jagged rock near the curb.
He ran to it, grabbed it with both hands. It was heavier than he expected.
His arms trembled.
He looked back at the baby.
The child’s eyes fluttered weakly.
Ethan stepped toward the window again, lifting the rock.