It was a cold December night when I first met Nico.

I was working late with a client when the sound of crying reached my ear. For a moment, I ignored it, thinking a mother's love was close in hand and the crying would stop. But after a good minute, I started for the door. Robert was long gone at this point, probably hitting a party downtown. I was always invited, but my work needed to get done tonight if I wanted to eat anything but Ramen noodles this week.

Though I was planning on only peeking my head out the door, I grabbed my jacket, bracing myself for the cold wind that would hit me. The door creaked open, and I was met with only a few streetlights, fading in the distance. I had almost dismissed my suspicions, until the noise returned with great force. Quickly following the sound to its source, I laid my eyes on a small basket below my feet. Inside was a tiny, shivering child with dusted cinnamon skin. It couldn't have been more than a few months old, 4 at best.

My studio was built within the old firehouse, an artwork in itself. From the outside, my studio is disguised in old brick with an outline of the firehouse sign still visible. Inside was a modern masterpiece of constant inspiration for myself and my clients. The old firehouse was in threat of getting torn down after the new firehouse was built not 2 miles down the road. I bought it for close to nothing with a bank loan shortly after college. Anyone with an impatient taste wouldn't dare. But thanks to my best friend Tammy, a graduated interior designer, the old Firehouse became my home and office; exactly how I wanted it. This child was obviously surrendered.

Instinctively, I grabbed the basket and rushed inside. I cranked the heat up to battle the cold air that slipped through the door, trying to soothe the baby's cries. I could have panicked, called the police in a stage of upset and confusion. I had never taken care of a baby before with the exception of holding my brother's child for 5 minutes at a time before his wife grabbed her from my arms. Yet, my first thought was to hold him, absorb his tears. I picked him up from the basket and bounced him around the studio, whispering.

"Shh, you're okay now. I'm here, you're okay" I repeated over and over again, getting softer with its crying. Within minutes, its crying stopped and I held it away to get a good look. The baby stared at me with crystal blue eyes and a blank expression. As it looked at me, it took my breath away. This has to be the most beautiful creature, with perfect imperfections untouched by society. I was stricken by the natural grace it presented, the simplicity, the...

"Oh, shit. What is that smell??" My nose shrunk into my face when it was met with the most ungodly stench. I looked at the baby through watering eyes, who was almost smirking. Luckily, I kept a spare diaper bag in the corner of my room on the off chance my brother ever visited me. Quickly, I ran up the stairs, baby in hand, and clean up the gift this little baby had for me.

I set down a towel on my bed and lay the baby down while I reached for the bag. I grabbed a fresh diaper, some wipes, and a onesie I had bought for Grace a couple months back. As I took the dirty diaper away, the smell got stronger. I nearly puked. I threw it into the waste basket in the corner, hoping I didn't miss. I looked back at the baby, who's chewing on... his toes.

"Let's get you cleaned up little guy" I giggled. I grabbed a wipe and finished it off with a diaper. After putting the onesie on, I realized it made no sense to have "Daddy's angel" written on his onesie. I laugh at the goofy sight, who laughed back. At was at that moment I fell in love with this baby. It was also the moment I snapped back into reality and called someone. Anyone. Tammy.