A year after losing my wife, Lara, life had settled into a quiet routine centered around raising our son, Caleb. Some mornings, his giggles were the only thing that made the house feel alive again. One workday, I dropped him at my sister’s home and took my usual shortcut through the woods to my first plumbing job. The trail was familiar, a place where I rarely thought of anything beyond the day’s tasks. But that morning, the silence broke with a faint, urgent cry. When I followed the sound, I found an infant carrier hidden beneath branches, holding a newborn girl wrapped in a thin blanket. She was cold and trembling, and my instinct took over. I carried her home, warmed her, fed her, and called emergency services. The paramedics assured me I had acted quickly enough to protect her from serious harm, and once they left, the house fell quiet again—but my mind could not shake the tiny embroidered “M” on her blanket. Continue reading…
