There, hidden in a narrow hollow between concrete panels, lay a baby girl. She was wrapped in dirty blankets. A plastic bottle sat empty beside her. Her tiny body shook from cold. Her skin was red and raw where diapers had been left too long. Her eyes were open, glossy and terrified, reflecting the beam of the flashlight.
Christopher dropped the hammer. It hit the marble floor with a metallic clang that seemed to echo forever.
He reached into the cavity carefully and lifted the baby out. She was dangerously light in his arms, fragile as a bird. Her crying weakened into a hoarse whimper as he held her against his chest.
He turned to Victoria. “There is a child inside our wall,” he said slowly. “Explain this to me.”
Victoria slid down the opposite wall, covering her face with her hands. Her sobs were quiet but uncontrollable.
“Whose baby is she,” Christopher asked, his voice trembling with rage and disbelief.
Victoria shook her head, unable to speak.
Christopher looked down at the child. “Little one,” he whispered, “how long have you been here.”
He then took out his phone and dialed emergency services.