On a bitter-cold November morning, I drove slow along the gravel fire road, scanning the treeline like I’d done for forty years. Then a soft, rhythmic cry tore through the silence—not a deer, not a man. I jumped into the ditch, shoved aside the briars… and froze: an infant carrier, hidden like trash. “Oh God… who leaves a baby here?!” I wrapped the blanket tighter and whispered, “Easy. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” And in that instant, I knew I wasn’t hunting today—I was fighting for a life… and the truth behind that cry was only beginning.

On a bitter-cold November morning, I drove slow along the gravel fire road, scanning the treeline like I’d done for forty years. Then a soft, rhythmic cry tore through the silence—not a deer, not a man. I jumped into the…