“Sir, I found your son beside the dumpster outside your mansion,” a soaking wet little girl said as she handed over a crying baby wrapped in a black trash bag. The billionaire, declared sterile twelve years earlier, didn’t panic. He stared into the child’s eyes and asked, “Who sent you here to play this sick game?” The little girl pointed a trembling finger at the top of the grand staircase, whispering, “The lady who told us to throw him away.”
I stopped breathing. Staring back at me from that tear-streaked, fragile face was a striking grayish-blue gaze. It was the exact shade, the exact melancholic tilt, of my own reflection.
“I knew right away that he belonged to you,” Charlee said softly, sipping a mug of scalding hot cocoa. Her eyes never left the infant. “Because continue reading …