Andrew slowly stepped forward. His assistant, Daniel, followed a few steps behind without speaking.
Inside, the air was thick and damp. There was a faint smell that told Andrew everything before he even looked closely.
In the corner, under a thin, dirty sheet, lay the still body of a young woman.
Too young.
Andrew didn’t need to step any closer to understand.
The girl hadn’t left.
She had been waiting.
Waiting for her mother to wake up.
Waiting for someone to come and do something.
The baby made a weak sound, a soft cry that barely filled the quiet room.
Andrew turned to Daniel.
“Call an ambulance. And the police.”
The girl immediately stepped back.
“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Don’t take her away.”
Andrew knelt down in front of her. Mud darkened the knees of his expensive suit.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stared straight into his eyes.
“Everyone says that.”
The words pierced deeper than he expected.
Ten years earlier, he and his wife, Claire, had heard similar promises in sterile medical offices.
“We’ll do everything possible.”
“Don’t lose hope.”
“Medical science improves every year.”
But the results never changed.
Irreversible infertility.