11/10/2025
I still remember the night I found him—a tiny bundle wrapped in a worn-out blanket, left in a basket near my fire station. It was my shift, and the cold wind howled as if mourning the little soul abandoned to fate. He was barely a week old, his cries weak but determined. My partner, Joe, and I exchanged glances, unspoken words passing between us. "We'll call CPS," Joe said, his voice steady. But I couldn't shake the feeling that this baby was meant for something more… or maybe just meant for me. Months passed, and when no one came forward to claim him, I filed for adoption. I named him Leo because he roared through every challenge, just like a little lion. The first time he smiled at me, I knew I'd made the right choice. "Leo," I said, holding him close, "you and me, buddy. We've got this." Being a single dad wasn't easy, but Leo made it worth every sleepless night and every ounce of spilled spaghetti sauce on the carpet. He was my son in every way that mattered. Fast forward five years, and our little life together had settled into a rhythm. Leo was thriving—a chatterbox who loved dinosaurs and believed he could outrun the wind. That night, we were building a Jurassic Park out of cardboard when a knock at the door shattered our peace. Standing there was a woman in her early thirties, her face pale, her eyes carrying the weight of the world. "YOU HAVE TO GIVE MY CHILD BACK!" she said, her voice trembling but firm.⬇️...Read more(Link in first comment 👇)
