I adopted a baby left at the fire station — and five years later, a woman showed up on my doorstep saying, “YOU HAVE TO GIVE MY CHILD BACK.” I still remember the night I found him — a tiny bundle wrapped in a worn-out blanket, left beside the fire station door. I was on shift, and the cold wind howled like it was grieving for him. He was barely a week old, his cry weak and scratchy but full of fight. My colleague Joe and I just stared at each other. “We’ll call CPS,” he said. But something in me

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