Convincing herself with a whispered, “This isn’t mine,” she gathered the baby into her arms and walked out of the station. The stroller remained behind like an abandoned shell, but Clara held the living weight of the infant close to her chest as she turned toward the police station.
Tonight, she told herself, she would do what was right. The police station smelled of burnt coffee and paper dust. Clara shifted the baby in her arms as she stepped up to the front desk, exhaustion heavy in her voice. “I found her. Alone in the metro. No one came back for her.”