I took a glass of water to calm myself and sat across from her. She was watching me closely, her big, innocent eyes fixed on my every move.
"Sweetheart, how long have you been away from your Dada?" I asked gently. Leaving such a small child alone for too long was dangerous.
She blinked a few times, then, in her soft baby voice, replied, "Long time ago. Ashley got hungry while waiting for Mama."
Before I could process her words, she suddenly climbed down from the couch, her tiny legs sprinting toward me. She patted her tummy and looked up at me with the most pitiful puppy eyes.
"Mama, I'm hungry," she said, making my heart melt.
I immediately stood up and lifted her into my arms. I wasn't sure what a 2- or 3-year-old child could eat since I had no experience with kids.
"What does our Ashley want to eat?" The words left my mouth naturally, surprising me.
I carried her to the kitchen and opened my fridge. I had some canned food and a pack of milk. Milk… that's what children usually drink, right? I thought, pulling it out to check the expiry date. Thankfully, it was still good for another week.
I glanced at her, but she looked a little confused, as if she wanted to say something. Ignoring her puzzled expression, I smiled and said, "How about some tasty milk and cookies?"
Her eyes lit up instantly. "Yay! Cookies!" she giggled, and for a moment, I was stunned. Her laughter was so pure, so beautiful. Whoever her parents were, they had certainly given her the best of their genes.
"Alright then, let's warm some milk for our sweetheart."
I placed her on the counter while I heated the milk in a small pot. Then, I grabbed a pack of chocolate cookies from the cabinet—ones my mom had given me when I returned. I put a few on a small plate and poured the milk into a glass, testing the temperature to make sure it wasn't too hot.
Taking her back to the couch, I watched as she dipped the cookies into the milk, nibbling on them like a little munchkin. She struggled to lift the glass, so I quickly held it for her, bringing it close to her small mouth.
After finishing her meal, she rubbed her tummy with a satisfied sigh. I couldn't help but laugh at how adorable she looked.
I placed the glass in the sink and took out my phone to call security. It was already 12:15 at night—her parents must be worried sick. But before I could dial, she suddenly tensed.
"Mama… are you calling someone to take Ashley away?"
Her lips trembled, and before I could even respond, her eyes welled up with tears.
"Mama doesn't want Ashley… boohoo!"
Not again.
"No, sweetheart, please stop crying," I pleaded, quickly scooping her into my arms and rocking her gently.
But this time, she cried even harder than before.
"No, baby, I was just checking the time on my phone. I wasn't calling anyone to take you away," I tried to reassure her. "Pretty girls don't cry, sweetheart."
But she wouldn't stop. Seeing her so distressed made me feel awful.
After what felt like forever, with continuous rocking and cradling, her sobs finally quieted. She hiccupped a few times, her tiny fists clutching my shirt, and eventually, she fell asleep in my arms—her face still smeared with tears.
Sighing, I gently placed her on my bed and tucked a blanket over her small frame. Sitting beside her, I carefully wiped her tear-streaked face, rubbing her cheeks softly until her breathing evened out.
What was I supposed to do now?
I went back to the living room to get my phone. Now that she was sleeping, I finally had a chance to call security.
As I reached for my phone, my eyes fell on the small backpack she had been carrying. It was a simple, worn-out bag, too big for her tiny frame.
Curious about what a two-year-old might have in her bag, I hesitated for a moment before unzipping it. Maybe her parents' contact information was inside. That would save me the trouble of calling security.
As I opened it, the first thing I noticed was how light it was. Inside, there were only a few items:
A tiny pink dress, neatly folded.
A small water bottle, half empty.
A crumpled packet of biscuits, mostly broken into crumbs.
A piece of paper, folded several times.
I took out the paper, hoping it might have an address or a phone number. But as I unfolded it, my heart skipped a beat.
It wasn't a contact note.
There was a photo wrapped inside it.
"Take care of her." It was written on the back.
A chill ran down my spine.
It wasn't just some random photo. In the picture, Ashley looked a little younger than she was now, but what shocked me was the person holding her—she looked exactly like me.
But I was certain I had never taken a photo with her.
How?
Now I understood why she was so determined that I was her mother.
This was more complicated than just calling security. I searched her bag for more information, but there was nothing.
One thing was for sure—she hadn't just wandered here by accident. Someone had left her near my door on purpose.
And that sent my mind into chaos.
Who left her here?
How did they know me?
And, most importantly—how was I in that picture?