My 16-Year-Old Son Rescued a Newborn from the Cold – the Next Day a Cop Showed Up on Our Doorstep

A newborn.

Tiny, red-faced, wrapped in a sad, too-thin blanket.

No hat. Bare hands. His mouth opened and closed in weak cries.

His whole body shook.

“Yeah,” Jax said.

“I heard him crying when I cut through the park. Thought it was a cat. Then I saw… this.”

He jerked his chin at the blanket.

Panic kicked in.

“Are you insane?

We need to call 911!” I said. “Now, Jax!”

“I already did,” he said. “They’re on their way.”

He pulled the baby closer, wrapping his leather jacket around them both.

Underneath he had just a T-shirt.

He was shaking, but he didn’t seem to care.

Flat. Simple. No drama.

I stepped closer and really looked.

The baby’s skin was blotchy and pale.

His lips had a blue tinge. His tiny fists were clenched so tight they looked painful.

He let out a thin, tired cry.

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