I Adopted a Baby Left at the Fire Station – 5 Years Later, a Woman Knocked on My Door & Said, ‘You Have to Give My Child Back’
I became the father of an infant I discovered abandoned at my fire station five years ago. Our life together felt complete until a woman knocked on my door, terrified, and made a request that completely upended my world.
That night, the windows of Fire Station #14 shook with the howl of the wind. Joe, my partner, entered the room while I was halfway through my shift, drinking lukewarm coffee. His face was smirking as usual.
He pointed at my cup and taunted, “Man, you’re gonna drink yourself into an ulcer with that sludge.”
It’s caffeine. It functions. “Don’t ask for miracles,” I retorted with a smile.
Joe took a seat and began looking through a magazine. The streets were silent outside, the unnerving stillness that makes firefighters nervous. A faint wail that was scarcely audible over the wind was heard at that moment.
Joe’s eyebrow went up. “You hear that?”
“Yeah,” I replied, standing up already.
The wind sliced through our jackets as we ventured outside into the frigid cold. The noise originated close to the front door of the station. In the shadows, Joe noticed a basket.
He murmured, “No way,” and hurried forward.
A small infant in a tattered blanket was inside the basket. His moans were regular but feeble, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.
“Holy…,” Joe said. “What do we do?”
I knelt down and picked up the infant with care. His age could not have exceeded a few days. Something changed inside of me as his little hand wrapped around my finger.
Joe stated sternly, “We call Child protective services,” but as he gazed at the infant, his tone softened.
I said, “Yeah, of course,” but my gaze was fixed on the small man. He was very frail and tiny.
I kept thinking about him in the weeks that followed. He was placed in temporary care and given the moniker “Baby Boy Doe” by CPS. I made more excuses than I should have to call for updates.
Joe took note. He studied me, leaning back in his chair. “Are you considering it? Taking him in as a child?”
My heart already knew the answer, but I responded, “I don’t know,”
The most difficult thing I had ever done was the adoption process. There was an unending amount of paperwork. I had the impression that someone was waiting to tell me I wasn’t good enough at every turn. A firefighter? Not dating? How much did I know about childrearing?
My house was inspected by social workers. They inquired about my parenting goals, support network, and hours worked. I couldn’t sleep over it, mentally reliving every exchange.
My biggest supporter was Joe. “Dude, you’re going to ace this. After a particularly difficult day, he gave me a pat on the back and remarked, “That kid is lucky to have you.”
When no one showed up to pick him up, I received the call months later. Officially, I was his father.
He was strong and determined, like a small lion, so I gave him the name Leo. I knew I had made the correct decision when he smiled at me for the first time.
“Leo,” I murmured, embracing him, “me and you, friend. This is within our grasp.
With Leo, life was fast-paced. Every morning was a rush to prepare us both. Because “dinosaurs don’t care about colors,” he would insist on wearing mismatched socks, and I couldn’t dispute with his reasoning. Cereal was typically everywhere but the bowl during breakfast, leaving a mess.
With a spoon in the air, he would ask, “Daddy, what’s a pterodactyl eat?”
I said, “Fish, mostly,” while drinking my coffee.
“Awful! I will never eat fish.
We spent the evenings together. Leo frequently “corrected” the required bedtime stories.
“Daddy, the T. rex does not pursue the jeep. It’s too large for automobiles.
I would chuckle and swear to tell the truth. Joe was a constant presence in our lives, helping out when my shifts were late or stopping by with pizza.
Being a parent wasn’t always simple. Leo would sometimes cry in my arms during his nightmares, and I would feel the burden of being everything to him. I discovered how to manage soccer practice, parent-teacher conferences, and fire station shifts.
