“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.”
bloody. A deep, ugly bruise purpled the side of her cheek.
“My name is Jocelyn Cooper,” she whispered, her eyes darting frantically toward the door. “I am Dexter’s mother. And I never abandoned my baby. I hid him by your walls because the men who broke into my house were going to slaughter him.”
I stepped forward, the air in the room turning to ice. continue reading …