The Note Under the High Chair
My heart pounded. I whispered, “That’s not her baby.”
The officer turned sharply. “You know this family?”
I nodded, explaining that Nadira lived here with her younger brother.
She babysat sometimes—but I had never seen this baby before.
As I spoke, something caught my eye:
a diaper bag in the corner, a bottle on the counter,
and a folded piece of paper tucked beneath the tray of the high chair.
When the officer picked it up, the handwriting was shaky and rushed:
“I’m sorry. I don’t know where else to go. Please keep him safe.
I can’t stay. I’ll come back when it’s over. Don’t tell anyone. Please, Nadira.”
