Necessity won. Dana scrambled toward the pile, tore away the bags, and lifted the box. Beneath it lay a blanket of soft wool—fine, expensive, even though it was damp. She touched the bundle. It was warm. It moved. Her hands shook as she pulled back the fabric—and a sharp, desperate cry pierced the night.
Dana collapsed into the mud. A baby. Someone had thrown away a baby like a piece of trash.
The Choice
The shock lasted only a second before instinct took over. Dana knelt in the muck, staring at a tiny, red face—a small body shivering under the dirty rain. “No… no… who did this to you?” she whispered, her voice breaking.
She didn’t think about the filth or the cold. She stripped off her oversized jacket and pressed the infant against her small chest, giving him the last of her warmth. “I’ve got you… I’ve got you,” she murmured. The baby’s crying softened as if he believed her.
As she adjusted the blanket, her fingers brushed against something cold: a thick silver chain with a rectangular plate. A flash of lightning illuminated the engraving. HARRISON.