The phone call was a jolt, a cold splash of dread that ripped through the quiet of my afternoon. My mother’s voice, usually a warm, familiar melody, was a panicked whisper, a desperate plea. “Please, come save me from him!” she cried, the line abruptly going dead.
My son, Michael, had volunteered to spend the summer with her, a surprising turn of events. He’d always been a city kid, resistant to the quiet charm of my mother’s small-town life. But this year, he’d insisted, offering to take care of her, to give her caregiver a break.
My mother, fiercely independent despite her disability, refused to leave her house or move into assisted living. Michael’s offer seemed like a win-win, a chance for him to prove his newfound maturity, a break for me.
The first week had been idyllic. Michael was cheerful on the phone, regaling me with stories of fishing trips and local festivals. But a nagging unease had crept in when he consistently deflected my requests to speak with my mother, claiming she was busy or asleep.
Now, this phone call, a desperate cry for help, confirmed my worst fears. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my keys, my heart pounding against my ribs, and sped towards my mother’s town.
The drive was a blur, a frantic race against time. The familiar landmarks of my childhood blurred past, each mile a torturous delay. As I pulled into my mother’s street, a sense of dread settled over me. The house, usually a beacon of warmth and light, stood dark and silent, its paint peeling, its once vibrant garden overgrown and neglected.
I parked the car and rushed to the front door, my hand trembling as I turned the knob. The door creaked open, revealing a scene that made my blood run cold.
The house was a disaster. Furniture was overturned, dust motes danced in the single beam of moonlight filtering through a grimy window, and a strange, acrid smell hung in the air.
“Mom?” I called out, my voice echoing through the silent house. “Michael?”
I moved through the living room, my footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust on the floor. The kitchen was a scene of chaos, dishes piled high in the sink, food rotting on the counter.
Then, I saw her. My mother was slumped in her wheelchair, her head resting on the armrest, her body still.
“Mom!” I cried, rushing to her side. I gently shook her shoulder, and her eyes fluttered open.
“Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice weak. “He’s gone. He took everything.”
“Who, Mom? Michael?”
She nodded, her eyes filled with fear. “He changed, darling. He… he wasn’t the boy I knew. He became obsessed with… with things. He kept asking about your father’s old coin collection, and your grandmother’s jewelry.”
I helped her sit up, and she continued, “He said he needed to ‘make things right’ and that we were holding him back. He stopped letting the caregiver in, and he wouldn’t let me call you. He said he was taking care of me, but he was just… waiting.”
“Waiting for what, Mom?”
“I don’t know, darling. I woke up this morning, and he was gone. He took the coins, the jewelry, even my old locket. He left me here, alone, in the dark.”
I looked around the ravaged house, the empty spaces where precious heirlooms once sat, and a wave of anger washed over me. Michael, my son, had betrayed my trust, had abandoned his grandmother, had stolen from her.
I called the police, my voice trembling with rage. As I recounted the events of the past few weeks, a sense of disbelief settled over me. How could my son, the boy I had raised with love and care, have turned into this?
The police searched the house, documenting the damage, taking my mother’s statement. They promised to investigate, to find Michael, to bring him to justice.
As I sat beside my mother, holding her frail hand, I knew that the summer had taken a dark turn, a turn that would forever change our lives. I didn’t know what had happened to my son, or what had driven him to this act of betrayal. But I knew that I would find him, and I would make him answer for what he had done.
Hello, ambulance? I… I found a baby in the entrance hall. It looks like someone dropped it off. Please come quickly
Christina was up before sunrise that morning — she needed to make a quick run to the store.
As she made her way to the front door, she noticed the familiar sight of her nephew’s toys scattered across the hallway floor.
She often babysat him, and though she had no children of her own, there was a quiet joy in the sound of a child’s laughter echoing through her home. For now, her life was centered around her career and personal goals, and she hadn’t yet met someone to start a family with.
After finishing her shopping, Christina’s bag was full: fresh bread, cheese, yogurt, fruit, and a few cans of peas in case she felt like whipping up a salad later. It was her day off — a rare chance to take care of things around the house without rushing.
As she returned home, walking along the peaceful path through her courtyard, she felt content. But just as she reached her building’s entrance, a faint sound caught her attention — a weak cry or moan. It sounded like a child.
She paused, listening closely. The sound was coming from the stairwell, near the garbage chute where discarded furniture was often left. Curiosity mixed with worry pushed her forward.
Tucked in the shadows, she saw a small bundle — a baby, barely a week old.
His tiny face was pale, lips tinged blue from cold or hunger. Christina’s heart clenched in sh0ck and compassion.
Without hesitation, she called for an ambulance.
“I’ve found a baby… he looks abandoned. Please come quickly,” she told the dispatcher, providing her address.
While waiting, she knelt beside the infant, whispering softly, “It’s okay, little one… you’re safe now.”
Within minutes, the ambulance arrived. Paramedics rushed in, and Christina carefully handed over the fragile baby. The doctor checked him over and nodded gravely.
“He’s alive, but weak. He needs medical care immediately. Are you his mother?”
Christina shook her head, emotion rising in her throat. “No… I just found him.”
After the ambulance sped away, Christina stood in silence, feeling shaken.
Back in her apartment, her groceries sat untouched on the table — cooking was the last thing on her mind. Later, she called her friend Oksana, needing to share the experience with someone.
That evening, Oksana arrived with a cake, and over tea, Christina recounted everything — the discovery, the fragile little life left alone in the cold.
“I keep thinking about him… What will happen to him now?” Christina wondered aloud. “Will he end up in an orphanage?”
Oksana nodded gently. “Most likely, unless his parents come forward. Or he’ll stay in the hospital until social services make arrangements. Are you thinking of helping him somehow?”
Deep down, Christina’s heart was already stirring with a thought that frightened her: Could she possibly take this child in? The idea seemed impossible — she was single, with an ordinary job and only limited experience raising children. But her heart was restless.
The next morning, Christina received a call from a police officer handling the case.
“We’ll look for the mother, though it’s often difficult — people leave and disappear. Usually, in these situations, the child is placed in an orphanage or foster care.”
Later, unable to shake the image of the tiny baby, Christina called the hospital to check on his condition. Days passed, but the thought of him lingered constantly in her mind.
A week later, gathering her courage, she visited the hospital. There, under a warming lamp, lay the fragile little boy, asleep and snoring quietly. Seeing him, her heart filled with emotion.
Returning home, Christina called her mother, who lived in another city.
“Mom, you won’t believe what happened…” she explained, voice shaking. “I found a baby… he’s in the hospital now, but I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Her mother was understanding but honest. “If you feel ready to be a mother, then go for it. But know that it won’t be easy, especially alone.”
Days later, Christina walked into the local child welfare office.
“My name is Christina — I found the baby in our building. I’d like to know if I can adopt him or become his guardian.”
So began a challenging new chapter of her life — collecting documents, undergoing health checks, and taking parenting courses.
Months passed. At the end of summer, Christina received the long-awaited news: she was approved to adopt the child.
In late August, the court hearing made it official. When the judge declared her the child’s legal mother, Christina could hardly hold back tears.
Ten days later, she held in her hands the baby’s new birth certificate, listing her as his mother.
She celebrated quietly with Oksana, a few friends, and her mother, who came from afar. Everyone shared in her joy — and understood that her life had changed forever.
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