The door was open when Danny got there at seven forty-five. Not locked. That was the first thing he noticed. The second thing was the box on the step, a cardboard thing the size of a microwave, damp from the overnight rain.
Inside was a baby. Male, maybe three months old, wrapped in a blanket that used to be yellow and is now the color of dishwater. Feverish to the touch. Danny pressed the back of his hand to the baby's forehead and felt the heat through his own skin, thin and cold as it was from the morning air. There was a note taped to the inside of the box flap. Two words, written in marker: Please help. Danny...
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