People who abandoned babies did not prepare this thoughtfully. They packed in desperation. Whoever left Ava believed someone would care for her.

Seven-thirty turned into eight. Eight became nine. Every set of headlights outside made me glance toward the window. She never returned. When Ava woke crying, I warmed one of the prepared bottles and settled into my old rocking chair.

She curled her tiny fingers around mine while she drank. Something inside me quietly shifted.

“This is only for tonight,” I whispered. “You’ll be with your mommy tomorrow.”

By midnight, I accepted reality. One hour had turned into five. I called the police.

Two officers arrived within twenty minutes. One searched the neighborhood while the other questioned me in my living room.