"I'll stay with him until they get here," I heard myself say.
Riley raised an eyebrow but didn't question it.
"What about the baby?"
Social services showed up an hour later. A tired woman with kind eyes took the baby, promising he'd be placed with an experienced foster family. But driving home as the sun came up, all I could think about was that tiny hand gripping my shirt.
That grip didn't just stay on my shirt; it stayed on my mind, every hour that followed.
I couldn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that baby's face. I went to the hospital the next morning to check on the mother, but the nurses told me she'd left without a trace… no name, no address, nothing. Just vanished like she'd never been there.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that baby's face.
That morning, I sat in my car longer than I should've, staring at the empty passenger seat. If the baby boy had no one else… maybe that meant he was meant to have me.
***
A week later, I was sitting across from a social worker, filling out adoption paperwork.
"Sir, you understand this is a significant commitment?" she asked gently.
"I understand," I said. "And I'm sure. I want to adopt him."
It was the first decision I'd made in years that felt like healing.
It was the first decision I'd made in years that felt like healing.
The process took months. Background checks, home visits, and interviews. But the day they placed that baby back in my arms, officially mine, I felt something I hadn't felt since before the fire… hope.
"His name's Jackson," I said softly. "My son... Jackson."
And just like that, I wasn't just a cop with a past. I was a dad with a future.
Raising Jackson wasn't a fairy tale. I was a cop working long shifts, still processing trauma, trying to figure out single parenthood. I hired a nanny, Mrs. Smith, to care for him while I worked.
