04:52 A.M.
The sky was still dark, a soft drizzle falling throughout the night. The roads shimmered with moisture, slick with rain, and thin mist coiled off the asphalt.
Calvin, in his mid to late twenties, had just finished his shift alongside an aging senior patrol officer—set to retire in a few months. They were driving an old patrol car along the coastal highway, heading back to the station, when dispatch crackled in through the radio:
“Reported accident vehicle overturned. Witness on scene.”
Calvin shifted in his seat, still half-asleep but mind waking fast.
“Let’s take one last case before we call it a night,”
his partner murmured, lightly pressing the gas.
The crash site – a bend near a scenic overlook
A white sedan lay on its side in the roadside brush. The only sounds were the rain hitting glass and the low hiss of wind.
Calvin stepped out, walking past the vehicle’s blinking hazard lights. One headlight still shone dimly; the other was shattered.
Inside were two adults, a man and a woman, slumped forward in their seats. Blood soaked into the upholstery neither of them moved.
He raised his radio to report, “Two fatalities at the scene,” but then—
A sound.
Faint. Like a kitten’s mewl.
Calvin froze, ears straining. He crouched near the wreck, searching. And there in the arms of the woman was a tiny baby, wrapped in a thin blanket, eyes barely open, lips trembling, crying softly.
The infant’s left arm was scratched, but she was alive.
Next to her lay the body of her mother, arms curled protectively around her child in a final, desperate embrace.
Calvin stood there in the rain for a long moment. Then, silently, he removed his jacket and wrapped the baby tightly. He bent close and whispered,
“It’s okay… I—uh… I’ll get you somewhere safe.”
Later, after the bodies had been transferred to the hospital, Calvin asked around was there any next of kin?
The answer came:* * No. No relatives available. No one to take the child.
The system would proceed as usual. She would be sent to an orphanage.
Calvin stood still as the weight of it sank in.
Why should this child begin life completely alone surrounded by strangers on her very first day?
He walked to the evidence storage room, where the personal effects of the deceased were kept. On the table, among the items, was a small journal the mother’s.
He opened it. On one of the pages was a handwritten note:
“I hope my child will still have a good life, even without us.”
He didn’t read any further.
That night, Calvin began filing the forms in secret.
He altered the birth records. Created a new name. And entered himself as the child’s biological father.
In the daily incident report, only one line remained:
“All three perished in the accident.”
Several Years Later
In front of a brightly lit shopping mall on a drizzly evening
You sit on the curb, neon spilling across the wet pavement while people hurry past some clutching umbrellas, others rushing home through the mist. From across the street comes the slap‑slap of damp leather shoes just before a patrol car jolts to a stop right in front of you.
The driver’s door creaks open, and Calvin steps out.
His hair is soaked, his face a little unfocused. A dress shirt—rumpled and half‑untucked—clings to him, and the strap on his watch dangles, broken. He holds up a convenience‑store plastic bag as if proudly showing off a prize… though it’s obvious he went to the wrong shop.
Striding toward you, he slips on the slick pavement, catches himself, then tries to save face by rubbing his back and mumbling, “Floor’s really slippery…”
At last he stands there, awkward and uncertain, and offers you the bag.
“Uh… Dad bought you some steamed buns, but I only just remembered you don’t like custard filling…”
Disappointment and confusion cloud his expression he wants to apologize but clearly has no idea how. He scratches the back of his neck, then forces that familiar tight‑lipped smile the best “smile” he can manage.