The fulgent moon had befallen the metropolitan area, illuminating the dark streets. The grand city was filled with vile and displaced people; these derelicts were truly awakened in the dark. Not entitled to beg or to show mercy, their only desire was to make it to the next day.
The grand city of New York was no more than a gloomy shadow of its past. The rich garnered more riches while the poor died from starvation. Those who had power lived in skyscrapers, while the tarnished lived on the streets, for that was the life of the weak and poor.
...
Past the shallow streets, dark and grimy, there lurked a woman. Her face was covered with a hood, the darkness concealing her body and giving no sight of what she wore.
She seemed impatient, as if she were running from something—or maybe someone.
With each step she took, her pace quickened. The sound of her shoes hitting the pavement grew louder with her speed: a tap became a thump, and soon a beat that drew the attention of many vagrants of the night, delighted at the sight of a woman.
As the dark truth came to light for the woman, she noticed the attention. All she could do was run faster, refusing to be held back by the shadows.
Soon her pace lessened, and with observation, one would understand why: in the slums of the city, there were no street lamps, no lights at night—only the light of the moon.
The woman could now be seen, for she had left the slums and entered a safer urban area.
Her steps dwindled, little by little. She seemed to be at her destination.
What lay in front of her was a set of stairs leading to a porch. There, two closed doors stood—black, with golden handles. The walls of the three-story building gave off an unsightly feeling.
The woman felt it too, but that feeling was home—a place to sleep and eat, to not worry or be concerned for her safety.
But this home was not for her. Under the cover of darkness, she unraveled a cloth tied across her chest, revealing something she had carried close.
Step by step, she climbed the porch, the light bulbs above the doors flickering against the night. At last, the light revealed what she carried: a newborn baby, wrapped in dark blue cloth.
All this time, the baby had been silent, as if everything were all right. There was no need to cry—it had always been beside its mother, and that gave it peace of mind.
But the mother knew. She did not want the baby anymore—not out of hate, but out of sacrifice. She believed what was best for the child was to give up her life with it, so that it could live a life of its own.
She looked up at the doors of her destination. Above them, in faint lettering illuminated by the light, were the words: Holy Cross Home For Orphans.
Her hood covered her face, but light still peeked through, catching a soft smile.
She gave one more look at the child before placing it down slowly—like a sloth, taking in every detail of the child she would never see again.
The night deepened. Clouds covered the moon, and only the light of the house gave sight to the baby lying still and quiet on the porch.
Then the rain came. Time passed, and the city of darkness was now covered in water.
Thunder rolled, lightning cracked, and with it came the sound of crying—a sound of loneliness, a plea for help.
...
Bang! Bang!
A loud crash of thunder woke someone. A woman stirred, tears on her cheeks. She had been dreaming—a dream of a family. She dreamed of having a son and daughter, children who would grow long lives and give her grandchildren to hold in her old age.
The woman thought, It seems I am getting too old, and all my wishes will only ever be dreams. But at least I still have these…
Before she could finish her thought, she heard the cry. Whose baby is that? she wondered.
She was a caregiver, one of the ladies working in the orphanage.
She rose and followed the sound, until she stood at the front door.
She opened it.
"Hello?" she called, looking out. Then her eyes fell downward—upon a baby wrapped in cloth.
Her motherly instincts took over. She scooped up the child and carried him inside. She knew the parents had already gone, and there was no reason to search.
I don't even know how long he's been out there… all I can do now is get him warm.
The first thing she noticed while holding the baby was the smell—he needed a diaper change.
She carried him to a table and gently unraveled the cloth. Inside, she found a note.
It read:
"His name is Ash. He's a kind and sweet boy. He is patient; he only cries when he's alone. So I ask that you give him love and a family."
The woman's eyes welled with tears as she looked at the child.
"Hello, Ash," she whispered. "What a beautiful name for a beautiful child. The name you were given was the name your mother wanted for you."
After changing him, she picked him up once more and smiled through her tears.
"Welcome to your new home, Ash… the beginning of a new life."