But what made Ethan’s legs suddenly go weak was the faint sound coming from the worn red backpack strapped tightly to her shoulders.
A weak… muffled cry.
A baby.
Ethan dropped to one knee on the burning pavement.
The girl stared at him with hollow eyes—eyes that held exhaustion far beyond her years.
It was the look of someone who had stopped expecting help long ago.
“Don’t touch it,” she whispered hoarsely, stepping back and gripping the straps of the backpack so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“I won’t hurt anyone,” Ethan said gently, raising both hands. “I just want to help.”
For several seconds the girl studied him, deciding whether this stranger was another danger or her last chance.
Finally she spoke.
“My name is Emily.”
Her voice trembled.
She told him she had been walking since midnight.
Her stepfather had become violent after her mother fell seriously ill. The man had threatened to abandon Emily’s newborn brother somewhere in the desert because he “didn’t want another mouth to feed.”
So Emily did the only thing she could think of.
She waited until everyone was asleep.
Then she wrapped the baby in a towel, placed him inside her backpack, and ran away into the night.