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what you sow
On the doorstep of a townhome in New York City, a basket is placed.
The doorbell rings.
There are footsteps, and then there are not.
The doorbell rings.
There are footsteps, and then there are not.
A woman answers the door.
She looks in the basket.
She says, "What."
She looks in the basket.
She says, "What."
There is a toddler in the basket. She's about three, based on her size - the face looks a little more mature and she has negligible baby fat, though - and she's fast asleep and wrapped up tight in a blanket. She's pale and pale-haired and sitting right on this here doorstep.
Yes. Yes, she is all of those.
Well, regardless of wider concerns about who she is and where she came from, the immediate problem is that there is a small child in a basket on Chris's doorstep. And it is really, really easy to solve.
She picks up the basket and carries it inside.
Well, regardless of wider concerns about who she is and where she came from, the immediate problem is that there is a small child in a basket on Chris's doorstep. And it is really, really easy to solve.
She picks up the basket and carries it inside.
That's convenient.
Chris puts the basket on the couch, and sits down next to it, and contemplates her situation.
Chris puts the basket on the couch, and sits down next to it, and contemplates her situation.
Chris shrugs.
"You know as much as I do, kiddo."
"You know as much as I do, kiddo."
"Gooood question," says Chris.
She gets up.
"I'm gonna go think about this. If she wakes up, can you ask her where she came from?"
She gets up.
"I'm gonna go think about this. If she wakes up, can you ask her where she came from?"
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