VELARA’S POV

It had been three long weeks.

There was a light tapping against the glass beside me.

Startled, I looked up from the driver’s seat. A man stood just outside the car, his knuckles gently knocking on the window as he peered inside. A flashlight beamed through the glass, sweeping across the interior. I squinted, raising a hand to shield my face when the harsh light struck my eyes. He quickly redirected the beam, realizing the discomfort he’d caused.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said in a calm but firm tone. Judging by the uniform and the badge clipped to his chest, he was part of the city’s transit security. “You can’t stay parked here overnight.”

His voice stirred Kael from his restless sleep. My baby, named after the only beautiful thing I could cling to, let out a quiet, irritated cry. The man immediately lowered the flashlight to the ground, his face softening as the baby’s crying stopped.

“I’ve seen your car here the last couple of weeks,” he continued. “This is a train station lot. People come and go, but you... you’ve been here every night.”

I gently lifted Kael from the small fruit box I’d turned into a crib, cradling him against my chest. I rolled the window down a few inches so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice, and so I wouldn’t feel quite so invisible.

“I have no other refuge,” I said softly, though with unwavering resolve. “They compelled me to leave the park.”

He sighed deeply, running a hand down his face. His eyes flicked around the empty parking lot, scanning the dim outlines of passing cars and the distant figures beneath the station’s dull lights.

“No companions? No relations who might offer you shelter?”

I shook my head. It was easier than explaining. Anyone I once had was either long gone or had made it clear I wasn’t welcome.

His voice dropped a bit. “And the baby’s father?”

I swallowed hard, tightening my hold on Kael. That wasn’t a question I liked answering. He had turned his back on us long before the baby was born. He didn’t believe me when I told him. He wouldn’t even look at the ultrasound pictures I brought to prove it. After that, he stopped answering my calls. My voice became something he didn’t want to hear anymore.

“I did make the attempt, but he would not heed me.”

The man stood quietly for a moment. Then, as if walking a fragile line, he said, “There are… establishments, and kindly souls, who might see to his care. Perhaps, if you were to relinquish him, you might yet find your footing once more.”

I stared at him, every muscle in my body going still. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. But he didn’t understand. This child, my son, was all I had left.

“No,” I said softly but firmly.

He nodded without pressing further, stepping back into the shadows. His flashlight stayed aimed at the ground as he turned away, leaving me in the quiet, clinging to the only thing that still felt like hope.

“I shall not forsake my child as my own parents forsook me,” I say, my voice trembling with anger that he would even think I might. The very idea stings, makes my chest tighten. “That life is scarcely fit for an infant,” he responds calmly, though his tone carries a hard edge.“You are yet so young. Should you relinquish him, there lies before you the chance to begin anew, to live a life unburdened and ordinary.”

He pauses before continuing, “Consider it well. I shall grant you but one more week to secure another lodging. Beyond that time, you must needs take your leave.”

I nod slowly, not trusting my voice anymore. He was right but… I don”t know. I roll the window back up and watch him walk away under the dim glow of the streetlamp. His figure disappears into the night, leaving behind silence heavier than before.

Turning my attention back to my baby, I gently adjust the little blanket covering him and lift him with care. He stirs softly in the fruit box where I’ve made a makeshift bed for him beside me. I always sleep with one eye open, terrified I might accidentally roll over him. Even now, exhaustion tugs at me, but my nerves keep me sharp. I place him back down carefully and pull the covers up around us both, trying to settle into the cold concrete beneath.

As I lie back, staring at the cracked ceiling above, my thoughts spin. This isn’t the life I envisioned for him. I imagined something better. A warm home. Stability. Love, yes, but not like this. Not this desperation.

Tears escape my eyes, sliding into my hairline. His words echo inside me: This isn’t a life for a child.

Am I being selfish for keeping him? For choosing love over logic?

The mere thought of handing him over guts me. He’s mine. He came from me. I carried him, fed him, whispered promises to him when the world was cruel. I love him with every breath I take. Wouldn’t giving him up feel like tearing off a piece of my own soul?

My chest tightens again. I trace his tiny features in the dark with my eyes. This bond between us, it’s unshakable. Unexplainable. And though I have nothing, I have him.

Isn’t that worth everything?

I clutch him close, whispering, “I’m here, little one. I’m still here. I’m not a bad mama right? Nor selfish in my heart’s affections, right? I love you so much!”

Then, a soft whimper breaks the silence.

Then it grows louder, a tiny, distressed cry that pierces straight through me. My son’s face scrunches, and his fists flail in the air as he wails, his voice trembling with need. I sit up quickly, brushing sleep from my eyes. My body aches, stiff from the cold ground, but instinct moves me faster than thought.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, lifting him gently into my arms. “Mama’s here.”

I shift the blanket, bringing him to my chest. He roots instinctively, his tiny mouth searching until he latches on. A sharp twinge of pain stings at first, but I bear it, brushing his soft hair with my fingertips.

His cries fade into soft sucking sounds. The rhythm of his feeding steadies my heartbeat.

In this moment, nothing else matters, not the crumbling walls around us, not the hunger gnawing at me, not the future I can’t yet grasp. Just this: the warmth of his skin against mine, the weight of him in my arms, the fragile peace between us.

Tears prick my eyes again, but they’re different now. I press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, rocking gently. “You’re safe. I promise.”