As a home health aide, I was assigned an emergency infant care case. At the address, a woman handed me a cheerful baby, Lenny, with minimal instructions. After a drive, I sent a selfie to my supervisor, who revealed the placement was canceled—the house was vacant. A note in the diaper bag, addressed to me, urged me to keep Lenny safe without explanation. The police found no missing child report, so I cared for him temporarily. Weeks turned into months; no one claimed him. An email from an unknown source confirmed Lenny was safer with me,
sent from a library computer. A faint watermark linked to a women’s shelter offered no answers. Eventually, I gained custody, naming him Leonard Miles. A year later, a letter with a bracelet engraved “LMH” arrived, likely from his mother, thanking me. Now seven, Lenny thrives, knowing his first mom’s brave choice. I’m his mom now, in every way that matters, trusting love was her plan all along.