It was a stormy night at Fire Station #14—the kind where wind rattled the windows and silence settled heavy between emergency calls. I was midway through my shift, sharing coffee and conversation with my partner Joe, when we heard something unusual: a faint cry just beyond the bay doors.
We stepped outside into the cold night and followed the sound until Joe spotted it—a small basket tucked close to the station wall. Inside was a newborn, no more than a few days old, wrapped in a thin blanket, cheeks red from the wind. As I picked him up, his tiny hand gripped my finger, and in that instant, something changed in me.
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