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.
“Please, boy,” she murmured, trying again to coax him. Her voice cracked with desperation. “I just want to see.” But the dog held his ground, eyes fierce, his body trembling with exhaustion. He wouldn’t abandon whatever lay beneath him.
Fear and helplessness twisted inside her. She thought of hidden tragedy: a frightened mother, a baby smuggled out and discarded, or something criminal. The thought nearly buckled her legs. What if she were standing over evidence of some horrific crime? What if she touched it and ruined everything?
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