Our Little Cupid: The Tycoon's Child In My Arms

Allison rushed over, scooped up the baby, and scanned the empty street, hoping to spot someone who could explain why the little one was alone.

Panic pressed at her chest as she tried to decide what to do next. Should she call for help? Maybe take the baby to the nearest hospital? Would the police be better?

Tiny wails filled the air. The baby's cries came quick and frantic, its mouth working as if searching for comfort. She brushed her knuckles over its cheek, surprised by how soft and warm the skin felt beneath her touch.

A wave of longing swept over her, raw and bittersweet. This was what she had wished for, over and over again—only for fate to hand it to someone else, who had simply left it behind.

Maybe the poor thing was hungry, she figured. That would explain the endless crying.

She noticed a small bag next to the abandoned blanket. Inside, she found a can of formula, a bottle, and a handful of diapers. That was all. No letter, no clue, not even a name. The emptiness of it made her chest tighten. How could someone walk away from their child so easily?

The baby's cries grew desperate. Allison didn't waste another second. She grabbed the bag and carried the baby upstairs, her mind made up—feeding it came first.

Old lessons in infant care drifted back to her. She'd once obsessed over childcare books, convinced she'd need them when she was trying for a baby with Kyle.

She settled the baby on the middle cushion of her couch and hurried to boil water. As she waited, she gently loosened the swaddling, then undressed it just enough to check for any injuries.

A healthy baby boy gazed up at her—chubby and perfect, probably no more than three months old. Not a single bruise or scratch marred his skin.

Those enormous eyes blinked up at her, framed by damp, curled lashes. His lips puckered, searching for the bottle.

One look, and her heart melted on the spot.

His clothes were plain, his blanket ordinary, offering no hint about where he'd come from or who had left him.

She made quick work of changing his diaper and preparing the formula. The moment the bottle touched his lips, he latched on and drank hungrily. For the first time since she'd found him, the crying stopped.

Cradling him in her arms, she watched as his eyelids grew heavy and fluttered closed. The warmth of his tiny body filled her with something soft and new.

So this was what it meant to hold a baby, so delicate and small. No wonder Joan had been desperate for a grandchild.

She was haunted by a profound regret—a future forever barren, a dream of motherhood forever out of reach.

After a few minutes of feeding, the baby's eyes fluttered shut, sleep claiming him before he could finish his bottle. Warm, content, and finally safe, he rested quietly in her arms.

Originally, she had every intention of taking the child to the police once he'd eaten. But cradling that small, peaceful bundle, she found herself unable to move.

Something inside her changed as she wandered around her apartment, the baby nestled against her chest.

A wild, impossible idea took root: she wanted to keep him.

That was so unlike her. Normally, she prided herself on logic and restraint. But everything about her life had unraveled since her marriage ended, all because she couldn't give Kyle a child. Now, here was a tiny, helpless boy, as if fate had decided to give her one last chance.

Perhaps she was meant to embrace this miracle. If someone came for him, she would return him, no questions asked. Until then, maybe she could finally experience what it meant to be a mother.

The next morning, she bundled the baby up and walked into the police station to make a report.

In Blirson, a town where stories like this happened far too often, the officers barely reacted. They guided her and the child to a run-down orphanage, its peeling paint and tired walls a silent testament to years of hardship.

Inside, Allison's neat clothes and gentle manner stood in stark contrast to the group of wide-eyed children, their faces streaked with dirt and hope.

Somehow, the paperwork went quickly. She wrote a check for the orphanage and signed the necessary forms. By the end of the day, the adoption was official.

Days turned into weeks as she got used to her new life. Curious neighbors greeted her and the baby as they settled in. When anyone asked where the boy's father had gone, Allison answered without hesitation, "We're divorced."

Motherhood filled every corner of her days. She found joy in small things, and the ache from her failed marriage slowly dulled as the baby became her world.

Years slipped by, and before she knew it, four had passed.

One afternoon, Allison stood in the living room, eyes fixed on her son. "Lucas, can you tell me why you hit your friend?" she asked, arms folded, her voice tight with frustration.

Lucas Wade, only four but already stubborn, glared back from his spot in the corner. "He grabbed my toy and broke it! I didn't want him to, but he didn't listen!"

Allison's anger simmered. "It's just a toy. I can buy you another one, but hitting people is never the answer. What if you had really hurt him? Do you understand?" Her chest heaved as she tried to calm herself. She was about to spank him, but in the end, her hand dropped. She just couldn't do it.

She had once overseen a team of twenty at work, but keeping up with Lucas felt like an entirely different level of challenge.

As each year passed, her son grew bolder and wilder. He had a knack for getting into trouble, and every neighbor seemed to have a complaint for Allison. Lucas, however, never backed down from an argument.

"I only stepped in because Julia was getting her hair yanked by that chubby boy. Someone had to protect her! Archie took my snacks, so I got him back. The Smith brothers set their dog loose on everyone, so I put the dog in the trash for a while. They still got him back, didn't they? Just not as clean."

Listening to his explanations, Allison often found herself pinching the bridge of her nose, too tired to respond. Whenever she tried to scold him, he had a list of reasons ready. He always had the last word.

Among the neighborhood kids, Lucas had a reputation. Some admired him and stuck by his side, while others schemed for revenge. No matter what, he always stayed one step ahead.

On one particular afternoon, while Allison messaged Tricia online, a commotion outside interrupted her thoughts. A woman's voice carried through the open window. "Allison! Get down here! Your son is causing trouble again! If you can't handle him, maybe I should!"

Allison dropped her phone and hurried outside. Lucas stood at the center of it all, his hair wild and his clothes a mess, while a woman glared at her, clutching her tearful child.

Allison took in the scene and sighed inwardly. Lucas was at it again.

Forcing a polite smile, she apologized, then tried to grab her son. Lucas, recognizing the threat, darted up the stairs without a backward glance.

As the other mother tried to soothe her son, she shot a look at Allison and mumbled to herself, "With no dad around, it's no wonder the boy's like this. If it were up to me, I'd have sorted him out by now. He's never learned any manners."

Allison ignored the comment and went after her son.

Living in a small town meant rumors spread quickly. A woman arriving with a child but no husband only fueled their curiosity.

People whispered about how well Allison dressed, how she seemed to live comfortably without a regular job.

They speculated that her ex-husband must be sending money, though no one had ever seen him. Most believed he'd abandoned them completely.

Once she returned upstairs, Allison found Lucas in the corner, arms crossed, face set with stubborn defiance. The more she watched him, the more she wondered if it was time to return to Streley. Lucas was growing wilder by the day, and she worried he would never fit in once they went back to the city. If things kept up, he'd end up isolated and unhappy.

Her old apartment in Streley was still waiting for her. Yet the thought of bringing Lucas back to the same place where Kyle once lived left her uneasy. In the past two years, as Lucas got older, he started to ask about his father.

At first, Allison kept things simple. "Your dad and I aren't together anymore."

But on the days when Lucas got into trouble and gossip from the neighbors got under her skin, she'd snap and say, "Your old man's gone."