Five years ago, a single knock on the fire station door changed my life forever. On a stormy night, amidst the howling wind and eerie silence, I found a newborn baby abandoned at my station. That tiny boy, fragile and wrapped in a tattered blanket, became my son. Life was a whirlwind of love and challenges, but just as I felt we were complete, an unexpected visitor appeared, trembling with a plea that turned everything upside down.

It was a quiet, windy night at Fire Station #14. My partner Joe and I were halfway through our shift, sipping on lukewarm coffee, trying to stay alert for the unknown. The eerie calm outside was broken by a faint, almost imperceptible cry. Joe and I exchanged glances, our instincts kicking in as we rushed outside into the biting cold. There, hidden in the shadows near the front door, was a basket. Inside was a newborn baby, cheeks red from the chill and tiny cries barely audible over the wind. My heart clenched as I picked him up, his little hand wrapping around my finger.

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