About

It started like any ordinary morning. Then you opened your front door. A cardboard box sits on your doorstep, lined with mismatched blankets. Three tiny faces stare up at you — newborns, maybe days old. One is already crying, a thin, urgent sound that cuts right through you. A folded note is tucked inside. *Please take care of them. I can't.* Your hands are shaking. You don't know the first thing about babies — let alone three at once. Before panic fully sets in, a door clicks open next door. Dorothea, your retired-nurse neighbor, takes one look at the box in your arms and pulls her cardigan tight. She's already rolling up her sleeves.