Karen’s gut screamed at her that something was wrong.
Her eyes popped open in the pitch-black bedroom, and she felt out for her iPhone to check the time and confirm what she already suspected—it was the middle of the night.
Three-thirty-three a.m. exactly—way too early to be up for no reason after falling asleep just three hours ago.
She tried to remember—did she have coffee or an energy drink or something right before bed? She usually had no trouble going to sleep after a cup of coffee but had discovered that sometimes the caffeine took a while to kick in, resulting in her being able to wake up much earlier than usual. Wide awake too—a big deal for someone who wasn’t a morning person.
But even this was a bit too early.
She took a deep, steadying breath while determined awakening energy coursed through her. Deciding it would be a useless fight against her body to try to force it back to sleep, she pried herself from the bed. She headed toward the stairs, picturing various early breakfast options and wondering how to kill the unexpected extra time.
Maybe she’d just go back to her job search—she could sit at the dining room table, nursing a coffee and picking at scrambled eggs while fiddling with her résumé or googling work opportunities on her laptop.
She had a ton of time left to live in her sister’s home—Tamara was gone for two months—and though her sister had made it clear she could stay as long as she needed, Karen wanted to be back on her feet sooner than later and regain her independence; she didn’t want to mooch off of anybody, and she certainly didn’t want to stay in Tamara’s place after she came back and was actually living there again.
Karen loved her younger sibling, but it wouldn’t be long before they started clashing about something or other—the two of them were just too different.
It’d been pure luck that around the same time that Karen lost her job and had to give up her apartment, Tamara had decided to jet set around Europe for eight weeks, leaving Karen a solid home to rebound in. It was in a different state than the one she’d lived in for the past five years, but Karen didn’t mind the move, considering everything that had fallen down around her. A new place was just what the doctor ordered.
Perhaps that’s what this waking up early thing was about—after spending two days housesitting for her sister, the unfamiliarity of her settings had gotten to her, and this was her body’s way of showing alarm at being in a strange place—or maybe it was signaling the beginning of her body’s adjustment.
As she made her way down the stairs, carefully holding on to the banister, she wondered why she couldn’t shake the almost ominous feeling that had come with being awakened.
Instead of ignoring the feeling, she held onto it, wondering what it could mean, processing the possibilities. The thought even crossed her mind that someone might be in the house—a burglar or some other kind of intruder.
Her heart began to race a bit as she paused, listening carefully while she cursed herself for not grabbing a weapon from the bedroom to bring with her just in case. She scouted out a vase or some other heavy object nearby that she could bring across someone’s head if they tried it.
She let a few seconds pass, and in the quiet, Pacific Northwestern night, she heard nothing out of the ordinary. She found herself relaxing, feeling silly and paranoid. Her sister lived in a nice neighborhood—not that burglars didn’t find those—but it was highly unlikely. There hadn’t been any reports of crime in the area lately, and why would they pick this house? All of the houses in the neighborhood were pretty nice.
Although, now that she was thinking about it, had Tamara made some stupid post on Facebook or Instagram or something about being away for a while, pretty much sending out an open invitation to rob her place while she was gone?
Karen shook her head. Her sister could be impulsive and indulgent, and she was rather carefree overall, but she wasn’t careless or stupid.
Then again, all it took was a single posted photo of her adventures to indicate her absence.
Shit.
Karen took a deep breath as she talked herself down.
There’s no burglar here, she told herself. I’m safe.
No one was here because Tamara posted a selfie from her airplane seat with the caption, Off to London! First stop of many, followed by a stupid winking emoji.
Karen found herself smiling as she thought about who she wouldn’t mind discovering inside the house—the handsome, dark-haired, next-door neighbor with his intense gray eyes and those broad shoulders always covered by a crisp dress shirt tucked into his slacks.
I couldn’t wait any longer—I had to meet you, he’d say, passion emanating from him.
Then she giggled to herself, chastised her imagination for being silly again—no matter how cute he was, if she actually ran into him right now, she’d scream bloody murder because there was no way he’d be up to any good. Breaking into her place in the dead of night—or anytime for that matter—wouldn’t be romantic at all.
As Karen reached the refrigerator to pour herself a glass of water, it then occurred to her that perhaps the strange feeling was about her sister after all—people who were close had such connections with each other, didn’t they? Like mothers knowing when something had gone wrong with their child, even if they were an adult.
Perhaps something bad had happened on her sister’s trip and Tamara needed help. The thought caused Karen to panic a bit, her heartbeats speeding up again as she considered the possibilities.
She heard a strange sound and froze, listening hard.
There it went again! Was it a cat? It sounded like some kind of animal just outside of the house.
She moved closer to the walls and the front door to listen, and as the sound got louder right behind the door, it sounded like the cries of a baby!
But that couldn’t be it, could it? Was this a trick?
She placed her ear on the door, and the sound was unmistakable. She quickly moved to the nearest window, and then she could no longer deny it. Sitting on the generic welcome mat was some sort of baby carrier with lots of blankets in it—blankets that appeared to move in parts.
Then she saw a tiny raised hand.
Karen sucked in a deep breath as it sunk in—there really was a baby on the doorstep. She didn’t know what to do. It could be a con with someone using a voice recording and a fake doll, and if she opened the door, she’d probably get rushed or shot dead before the perpetrators went on to rob the place.
But if it was a real baby—she couldn’t leave it out there! Even if it was wrapped up in blankets, an extended period in the cool, autumn night surely wouldn’t do it any good. And if it was a real baby, she had no idea what her next step would be except to hold it against her body as she kept it wrapped up, making sure it got warmed. Perhaps she’d keep it overnight and then try to figure out where to go from there.
Finally, the crying baby’s choking, desperate sounds got to her. She unlocked the door and quickly made a grab for the carrier before shutting the door rapidly and re-locking it. She sighed in relief once the carrier, baby, and herself were all safely on the inside with no further incident.
She was almost afraid to look, but when she pulled back the pink blanket, she saw the red-faced tiny creature screaming its little head off, gummy mouth opening and closing as it let out each cry.
“Oh my god—you poor little thing!” she said as she pulled the newborn out and cradled it, taking care with its neck.
She made soothing sounds as she rocked it gently, holding it close to her, still wrapped up in a bundle until it started to quiet down a bit. Eventually, she noticed what looked like a small envelope attached to the carrier. She reached down and plucked the note with her free hand.
Really tried, but sorry—didn’t work out. I can’t give her what she needs, but hopefully, you can. I’ve named her Denise. She’s two days old. Please look after her or find someone who can.
Karen found herself growing angry. The mother gave it two days? That’s it? Then she set the child on a stranger’s doorstep to do what she should’ve done and taken it to a safe drop-off location? Why the hell hadn’t the woman gone to one of those in the first place?
She wondered if the mother had walked here. If so, she couldn’t have gone far.
But then again, what if that part was the trick after all? Better not open that door again—especially since it was most likely that the woman had driven there and was now long gone.
Karen wondered where the nearest fire station or hospital was, and if the child had even been to a hospital yet.
Had the mother had her at home? Was there a record of this baby being born somewhere? Did the child still have part of the umbilical cord attached?
She examined the baby again. She’d seen no sign of blood or anything, although it probably would’ve dried up by now. But thinking about it reminded her that the first thing she actually needed to do was get this child some medical attention. Who knew what could be wrong with the baby? She’d never forgive herself if the child died overnight from unknown causes or unforeseen complications.
Karen even wondered if that was why the newborn had been abandoned—had the mother known she had a sick child?
And why her sister’s doorstep and not the person next door? Did the mother know a guy lived there and trusted a woman to take care of it more than some dude? Why not the house on the other side of her, for that matter?
Karen hadn’t gotten a glimpse of who lived on the other side just yet, but had the drop-off been strategic? Did elderly people live there or something?
Karen took another calming, deep breath. Time would tell. For now, she needed to figure out what to do next.
Luckily, the child had started drifting off to sleep, and the only part of her that regretted it was the part curious to look into the baby’s eyes, which had stayed closed the whole time as it wailed.
Karen tucked the baby back in its blankets and made another quick visual sweep of the porch area, noticing something she had missed before in the dark and in her haste: a bag. It looked like it could be a baby bag, and with the hope that it could have what she might need for now, she pulled it inside.
Relief flooded her when she saw the bottles and formula within. Well, the mother did care a bit after all. Still, what if the baby had allergies? She couldn’t just give it what was in there without knowing more. What if the child had an adverse reaction?
Karen realized she just had to call the authorities over and have the child picked up; she couldn’t involve herself further.
Something in her stirred at the thought of strangers coming to take the helpless child away.
That baby’s going to end up in foster care, abandoned and unloved for a time, she thought sadly.
She knew that handing the baby over was the right thing to do legally, but a large part of her resisted the idea. It’d only been three months since her miscarriage of the baby she’d been growing for five months—the baby she’d planned to raise despite its father’s absence since he’d abandoned her once he found out the news.
“I’m not ready to be a dad, and I’m not going to let you force me into it,” he’d told her.
He insisted that she abort the baby, and when she refused, he ended their relationship, cutting all possible ties—including de-friending her from his social networks.
Karen had been stressed about taking on parenthood by herself, but she didn’t realize how much the stress had affected her pregnancy until it was too late; she’d let her baby down.
She glanced at the adorable sleeping newborn covered in pink blankets.
She couldn’t let this one down—she had to find a way to make sure this child was taken care of.