“You’re not alone now, little man,” he whispered.
The baby quieted against his chest. That was the first miracle Michael ever believed in.
By 7:18 p.m. he was standing at the hospital intake desk with mud on his jeans and panic in his eyes. The nurse looked from him to the baby and then back again. “Is this your child?” she asked.
Michael opened his mouth. For the first time in his life, he understood how a lie could be more honorable than the truth. “I found him,” he said.
The nurse wrote unknown male infant on the intake form. A deputy came and took a short police report. Michael answered every question as plainly as he could.
Where exactly did you find him? Near the lower field, by the ditch. What time? Around sunset. Did you see anyone leaving? No. Did you touch anything besides the baby and the blanket? No.
