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MIA'S POV

He stood in the doorway—mid-forties, bearded, simple clothes, eyes dull but dangerous. The moment his gaze locked on me, my stomach twisted.

“Dad, look at what Mia got for me!” Vicky chirped, lifting her chips.

He didn’t look at her. Only me.

“Go to your room,” he ordered.

“But Dad—”

“Now.”

She deflated and slipped away, leaving me alone with him. My fingers tightened around the small bag in my hand.

“Welcome home, Mia,” he said, voice almost a snarl.

“I… I brought what Mom asked for.” My voice shook. “Where is she?”

Instead of answering, he moved closer, eyes crawling over me. “Is it just me, or did you get more beautiful since last time?”

I froze. He stopped inches from me.

“No,” he whispered. “You definitely got more beautiful.”

“Please… call my mom.” I kept my eyes down.

He grabbed my chin and forced my face up. I whimpered as his grip tightened.

“God, I’ve always loved when you tremble in my hands,” he murmured, staring at my lips.

“Let me go… please.”

“If you’d cooperated back then, you could’ve replaced your mother in my heart,” he breathed, leaning in.

“Stop,” I gasped, shaking.

He grabbed my waist and yanked me against him.

“George.”

My mother’s voice sliced through the room.

He released me immediately. She stood there in a silver nightgown, hair messy, eyes moving between us.

“She threw herself at me again,” he lied easily.

I wasn’t surprised—just sickened. Mom stared at me, unblinking.

“Go to our daughter,” she commanded.

“Elle, I—”

“Go to our fucking daughter, George.”

He sighed and walked off.

I exhaled shakily and turned to her. “Mom, I got what you—”

Her slap hit my cheek so hard my eyes watered instantly.

I held my face, stunned.

“When will you stop trying to seduce my husband, you slut?” she spat.

My heart cracked. “Mom—”

“You think you’re the younger, prettier version of me? That you can steal my husband?”

Tears spilled. “Mom, I’m not—”

“You girls think you run the world now. You won’t succeed, Mia.”

I swallowed my pain, looked down, and lifted the small bag. “Here… the tampons and painkillers you sent me to buy.”

She slapped the bag from my hand, sending it against the wall.

“I don’t need them anymore,” she hissed.

My voice trembled. “Then… what are you going to use?”

“Shut up and get out of my house.”

I stepped back as more tears fell.

“Get out!” She shoved me. I hit the floor.

“And don’t ever come back—even if I call you!”

I stood slowly. She still glared at me like I was her enemy. I reached for the door, hand shaking.

“Mia!” Vicky’s small voice broke.

I turned. Mom was gripping her arm. Vicky cried silently. “Don’t go, Mia. Please.”

“Get out,” Mom said calmly, eyes cold.

George lingered behind her like a shadow. I looked at my sister—those pleading eyes.

“I love you, little sister,” I whispered.

Then at Mom. “I love you too. I hope someday… you change.”

I walked out as Vicky cried my name.

I kept walking, wiping tears, my mind drowning in everything wrong with my life. No job. A cheating boyfriend. A mother who hates me. No one in this world but myself.

The night didn’t scare me. Nothing did. If danger came, so be it.

Then I heard it—a faint sound. I stopped. A baby’s whimper.

I turned toward the trash cans. Silence. I almost walked away until the cry came again, louder.

I followed it—and froze.

A baby lay inside the trash can.

An interracial baby. Tiny legs and arms exposed in the cold, wearing only a thin onesie.

My heart broke instantly.

“Oh my God…”

I searched for anyone, any sign of who left him. Nothing. The street was deserted.

The baby wriggled, made soft sounds, then cried weakly. Not even dressed warmly. He could die out here.

I reached in and lifted him. He was heavier than I expected.

“Sorry, buddy,” I whispered as he cried against my chest.

My phone said it was almost midnight. No wonder the streets were empty.

I held him close and walked home, unsure of what else to do. I’d take him to the police in the morning. For now, he could stay with me. At least I wouldn’t be alone tonight.

In a strange way, it felt like the universe handed me something to hold onto—if only for a night.

⸻

I unlocked my tiny room and carried him inside. At least it was warm.

I tried setting him on the bed, but he clung to my hair. I chuckled weakly and pried his hand open, setting him in a sitting position.

“Let me get you a sweater,” I murmured.

I pulled out my old red cardigan and draped it over him. It swallowed him completely except for his head. At least he wasn’t exposed now.

I studied him—curly dark hair, big blue eyes, chubby cheeks, adorable. Probably around seven or eight months old.

Why would anyone dump a child like this?

He sucked on two fingers, drooling.

“You hungry?” I asked. “You’re in luck. I have milk and cereals.”

I picked him up and went to my tiny kitchen. He tugged on my hair again. I made cereal—my favorite, though this bowl would probably finish one pack. But he needed it more.

I fed him on the bed. He ate eagerly, adorable lips messy with cereal. When I took a bite for myself, he protested loudly.

“Okay, okay, no sharing,” I laughed.

He finished the whole bowl. A foodie indeed.

I gave him water, cleaned his mouth, and took him to my bed. I rubbed his back until he let out a tiny but loud burp.

I laid him on his belly and gently patted him. His sleepy eyes stared at me.

“You’re such an angel,” I whispered. “Why would anyone dump you?”

He stared like he understood.

“Well… I was dumped too. By my mom. But I was eighteen. You’re not even one.”

His blinks slowed.

“Tomorrow, the police will help you,” I whispered.

His eyes closed, and he drifted off. I smiled at the oversized cardigan swallowing his tiny body.

Then my phone beeped.