The squeak came again. She froze, straining to listen. Was it truly a baby? Or her mind twisting noises into what she feared? It didn’t matter. If there was even the smallest chance, she couldn’t risk being wrong.
She scanned the ditch, searching for signs of anyone else. There was no stroller, bag, or note. There was just the bundle, trembling faintly under the dog’s weight. The evening air cut cold across her arms. If there was a baby, time was running out.