The street was quiet—too quiet. Just the spooky stillness of the neighborhood waking up. The only sound was the baby’s soft whimpers, faint from crying so much. This helpless child, left on my porch—my nephew. I knew it right away. My brother had done this.

I knew it, just like I knew he wouldn’t come back. Vance. Always running from trouble, always disappearing when life got hard. He hadn’t been around for weeks, and now, in the dark of night, he’d left his son on my doorstep like an unwanted gift.

Owen was in the kitchen, brewing coffee, when I stumbled back inside, still holding the baby in my arms. I must have looked upset because his face changed the moment he saw me.

I could barely talk. “Vance… he left him,” I said, my voice shaking. “He left his baby on our doorstep