There are certain calls that never lose their weight, even after years in uniform, certain radio tones that carry an ache you can feel in your chest before you even understand why, and for Officer Noah Callahan, the phrase “leftover child” was one of them. It always landed differently, lingering in the air like a bruise, because it meant a child had waited and waited and waited… and no one came.
It was late afternoon when the dispatcher’s voice cracked softly through the radio, professional yet tinged with quiet sorrow: “Unit available for standby at Brookhaven Primary—unclaimed minor, parent unavailable, emergency contacts nonresponsive.” Noah checked the time. 4:47 PM. The sun was melting into warm amber streaks, shadows stretching like tired arms across the sleepy town, the hour when most eight-year-olds were tossing backpacks aside, bargaining for screen time, negotiating vegetables and dessert, doing normal kid things, not sitting in empty hallways wondering who forgot to love them.
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