For years, I prayed for a child, only to be met with heartbreak and silence. One evening, I came home to find an infant in a wicker basket on my kitchen table, wrapped in secrets with a note that changed everything. Who left the baby, and why?
My husband Wesley and I had been trying for years to have a baby. At first, we told ourselves to stay patient.
“It’ll happen when the time’s right,” Wesley would say, kissing my forehead as if words could soothe the ache inside me.
But patience wore thin fast. Each pregnancy test brought only disappointment. Every single line on the stick felt like another door slamming shut.
