My 16-Year-Old Son Saved a Newborn from the Freezing Cold — and the Next Morning, a Police Officer Knocked on Our Door

Not a cat. Not the wind.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I dropped the towel and rushed to the window overlooking the small park across the street.

Under the dull orange glow of the streetlight, on the closest bench, I saw Noah.

He was sitting cross-legged, boots tucked beneath him, his jacket open. His bright hair burned against the darkness.

Cradled in his arms was something impossibly small, wrapped in a thin, threadbare blanket. He was hunched over it, shielding it with his entire body.

My stomach dropped.

I grabbed the nearest coat, shoved my bare feet into shoes, and flew down the stairs.

The cold slapped me as I sprinted across the street.

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