Not trash. Not clothes.
A newborn. Tiny, red-faced, wrapped in a blanket that barely helped. No hat. Bare hands. His mouth opened and closed in weak cries.
His entire body trembled.
“Oh my God. He’s freezing.”
“Yeah,” Jax said. “I heard him crying when I cut through the park. Thought it was a cat. Then I saw… this.”
He nodded toward the blanket, and panic hit me full force.
“Are you out of your mind? We need to call 911!” I said. “Now, Jax!”
“I already did,” he replied. “They’re on their way.”
He pulled the baby closer, wrapping his leather jacket around both of them. Under it, he wore only a T-shirt.
He was shaking from the cold, but he didn’t seem to care.
“I’m keeping him warm till they get here. If I don’t, he could die out here.”
Flat. Simple. No dramatics.
I stepped closer and really looked.
The baby’s skin was blotchy and pale. His lips tinged blue. His tiny fists were clenched so tightly they looked painful.
He let out a thin, exhausted cry.
I yanked off my scarf and wrapped it around them both, covering the baby’s head and Jax’s shoulders.
“Hey, little man,” Jax murmured. “You’re okay. We got you. Hang in there. Stay with me, yeah?”
He traced slow circles on the baby’s back with his thumb.
My eyes burned.
“How long have you been here?”
“Like five minutes? Maybe,” he said. “It felt longer.”
“Did you see anyone?” I asked, scanning the dark edges of the park.
“No. Just him. On the bench. Wrapped in that sheet.”
Anger and heartbreak collided inside me.
Someone left this baby out here. On a night like this.
Sirens cut through the cold air. An ambulance and a patrol car pulled up, lights reflecting off the snow.
Two EMTs jumped out with bags and a thick thermal blanket. A police officer followed, jacket half-zipped.
“Over here!” I shouted, waving.
They rushed toward us.
One EMT knelt immediately, eyes scanning the baby. “Temp’s low,” he muttered as he gently lifted him from Jax’s arms. “Let’s get him inside.”
The baby let out a weak cry as he was carried away.
Jax’s arms fell empty. They wrapped the baby in a real blanket and rushed him into the ambulance. The doors slammed. They were already working before it even pulled away.
The officer turned to us.
“What happened?”
“I was walking through the park,” Jax said. “He was on the bench, wrapped in that.” He nodded toward the discarded blanket. “I called 911 and tried to keep him warm.”
The officer’s gaze flicked over him—pink hair, piercings, black clothes, no jacket in the freezing air. I saw the judgment flash.
Then the realization.
He looked at me.
“That’s what happened,” I said evenly. “He gave the baby his jacket.”
The officer nodded slowly.
“You probably saved that baby’s life.”
Jax stared at the ground.
“I just didn’t want him to die,” he muttered.
They took our information, asked a few final questions, then left. The red tail lights vanished into the night.
Back inside, my hands kept shaking until I wrapped them around a mug of tea.
Jax sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his hot chocolate.
“You okay?” I asked.
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