Story: The Day I Found Him
I didn’t expect anything unusual that morning. I was walking my usual route through the park, coffee in hand, when I heard it—a faint cry, soft but urgent. I followed the sound and found him: a baby boy, wrapped tightly in blankets, lying near a bench. No note. No bag. Just him.
I froze. My heart raced. I looked around, expecting someone to rush back, to explain. But no one came. I called the police, and while we waited, I held him. He stopped crying. His tiny hand gripped my finger, and something shifted inside me.
They took him to the hospital. I gave a statement. I went home, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Who left him? Why? Was he safe now? Days passed, and I kept calling to check on him. Eventually, someone asked if I’d consider fostering. I hadn’t planned on being a father. But I said yes.
Weeks turned into months, and the bond between us grew. I learned how to mix formula, how to soothe him at 2 a.m., how to read his moods. I also learned how much love I had to give. The system searched for his birth parents, but nothing came. No one claimed him. And so I did.
I adopted him. Legally, emotionally, completely. He’s mine now—not by blood, but by choice. That morning in the park gave me a son, and every day since has been a gift I never saw coming.
