The Next Morning, My Porch Wasn’t Normal
The next morning, I woke up to a strange noise on my front porch.
At first I assumed it was Mrs. Clinton’s cat messing with my trash again.
But when I opened the door, my brain stalled.
There was a silver Subaru Outback parked at the curb.
Clean. New-looking. And on the hood—like it belonged in a commercial—sat a giant red bow.
At my feet was a wooden crate packed with groceries and baby supplies.
Diapers. Wipes. Formula. Tiny onesies folded like someone cared about the details.
On top was an envelope with my name written in careful handwriting.
RILEY.
My hands started shaking before I even opened it, because my body already knew this wasn’t random.
