Morning greeted Angelina with a splitting headache and the sound of frantic crying. She didn't even remember falling asleep—she must have blacked out in the armchair, clutching the warm little bundle to her chest. The baby was screaming bloody murder. She bolted upright, nearly dropping him, only to realize they were both soaking wet. The diaper had leaked. “Shh, it's okay, it's okay,” she muttered, moving him onto a dry towel. “Just a second, buddy, I’ll be quick...” She checked her phone. Three missed calls from her class rep and four unread texts: Where are you? Are you coming today? The prof is on a rampage. Angelina... Angelina snatched the phone and hit dial. “Hey, Lena? I wanted to call last night, but...” “Angelina, where on earth are you?!” Lena’s voice snapped with pure irritation. “They rescheduled the statistics seminar to right now. You need to be here!” “I can’t make it. Someone... someone left a baby on my doorstep.” A heavy pause hung on the line. “A what?” “A baby. He was abandoned. I’m a temporary guardian now, Lena. Don’t ask me how it happened. Can you please just cover for me during the lectures? And tell the seminar professor that I’m sick.” The class rep sighed, though a note of pure curiosity was already creeping into her voice. “Are you for real?” “Dead serious. Right now he’s soaking wet, screaming his head off, and my hands won’t stop shaking. I’ll fill you in on everything later, okay?” “Fine. But the professor is going to ask for a doctor’s note.” “I’ll figure something out. Thanks.” She hung up. The little guy was still crying. Angelina looked down at the damp patches on her T-shirt, suddenly remembering that she hadn't showered, hadn't eaten, and still had a grueling marathon ahead of her: the pediatric clinic, social services, buying a crib, and getting the rest of the baby gear. Her phone rang again. This time, it was her mother. “Are you awake? I went ahead and ordered the furniture for you. The seller was incredibly understanding—he’s delivering it right to your apartment door. Your dad and I covered the cost.” “Thank you so much. When are you guys getting here?” “Well, sweetie, here’s the thing...” Her mother hesitated.Items on the train are completely sold out. It’s the holidays, you know how it is. The earliest tickets available aren't until January third.” “What? I’m going to be all by myself until the third? I have to spend New Year’s Eve alone?” “It looks that way... But we’ll do our best. Your father is going to ask around at work; he has some connections. Maybe we can scalp some tickets from someone. I’ll keep you posted, just hang in there.” Hanging up, Angelina finally managed to change the baby’s diaper, only to get sprayed with urine yet again. In the kitchen, she balanced brewing tea with one hand and mixing formula with the other. The little boy lay on a blanket on the floor, happily playing with his pacifier and its plastic packaging. The phone rang yet again. “Hello?” “Lieutenant Gushchina here. Angelina Volkova, an officer will be stopping by your place around seven this evening to have you sign some paperwork. Please make sure you’re home. Just a reminder: your clinic appointment is at noon, and Child Protective Services will be over at three for an inspection.” “Oh God, my place is a disaster and I haven't even showered yet,” Angelina whispered into the phone. “No one expects you to be perfect, especially not on day one. Just keep the place sanitary and watch the baby. That will be enough to pass the initial home visit. After that, you’ll just have to learn the ropes of motherhood a bit faster. Do you have any questions for me?” “No. Thank you.” Gushchina hung up. Angelina looked down at the baby and let out a long sigh. After gulping down her lukewarm tea, Angelina began prepping for the clinic. The little guy was squirming constantly, and forcing him into the heavy winter snowsuit—the one the store clerk had thoughtfully picked out the night before—felt like trying to wrangle a wild animal. Angelina cried, coaxed, shouted, and got angry. It was impossible to get through to him. He couldn't comprehend his foster mother's anxiety. In fact, as far as Angelina could tell, he didn't comprehend anything at all. When she finally made it outside, she realized she had run out without a hat again. It had snowed all night, burying the sidewalks completely. For a major city, the municipal plows were doing an abysmal job. To make matters worse, the bus pulled away just as she reached the curb. In a fit of desperation, Angelina called a rideshare. Pre-holiday surge pricing had doubled the fare, but she was past the point of caring. The driver scolded the young mother for failing to select the child-seat option on the app—though luckily, he happened to have one in the trunk. Angelina apologized profusely, her voice tight. Sensing her distress, the driver gave her a sympathetic look. He drove slowly to avoid the slick roads, but they managed to make the appointment just in time. Angelina sat in the clinic hallway, cradling her bundle. The couple across from her was already undressing their child. “Excuse me, miss,” the other mother spoke up. “You might want to undress your little one out here in the hall. The pediatrician only gives you ten minutes; you won’t have time to strip him down and dress him back up inside the exam room.” Angelina gave her a grateful nod. “Should I take everything off?” “Down to the diaper. Is this your first time?” “Yes,” Angelina admitted honestly. “Just use that changing table over there and leave your things. No one will touch them.” “Thank you.” The pediatrician, a weary, middle-aged woman, examined the baby. She weighed him, measured his height, and checked his head and chest circumference. “Six and a half months old,” the doctor announced. “His weight and height are slightly below average, but overall, he’s healthy. Are you the mother?” Angelina stammered. “I’m... his temporary guardian.” “Temporary?” The doctor raised an eyebrow. “He was left on my doorstep. Last night.” “Well, in our system, he’s registered as Peter Ivanov. I’m not sure if that’s his actual name or just a placeholder the police used. Do you have any children of your own?” “No.” “In that case, I’ll write down a vaccination schedule, a feeding guide, and recommended hygiene products. The pamphlet lists specific brands... I can’t force you to buy them, of course, but it’s highly recommended. They’ve been thoroughly tested, and they’re safe and hypoallergenic [0.1.26–0.1.27]. A visiting nurse will be coming to your apartment for at least the first month. She’ll check on Peter and give you some pointers. You can ask her anything. You'll see me again in a month. Any questions?” “No, I think I’m okay for now.” The journey back home was no less of an ordeal. On the landing, she ran right into Aunt Zina, her elderly neighbor. “Angelina, a courier was here earlier, left some big boxes for you. My word, what is that? Did you have a baby? You seemed like such a proper girl, never brought men over, and yet here you are, unwed with a child. What is this world coming to? In our day, young women didn't behave like this.” The old woman turned on her heel and marched away, leaving Angelina alone with the boxes. Angelina looked down at her dying phone screen and saw several missed calls from her mother. The day was turning into a total trainwreck. Pulling herself together, she slowly hauled the heavy boxes into the apartment one by one. Opening the first box labeled “Crib,” she stared down at a confusing jumble of wooden planks, screws, and bolts. The crib was completely disassembled. She dialed her mother in a panic. “Mom, how am I supposed to assemble a crib?” “You probably can’t do it on your own, sweetie. Is there a man around who could lend a hand? Neighbors, classmates, a friend?” “No. My only neighbor is Aunt Zina, and she won’t even look at me now. There are only girls in my university group. And I don’t have any guy friends.” The doorbell rang. “Mom, I have to call you back.” It was Child Protective Services. The inspectors took one look at the boxes cluttering the hallway, Peter—whom Angelina hadn't even managed to change out of his outdoor clothes yet—a mountain of dirty dishes, and the messy living room, and their expressions soured. They issued a formal warning, coldly explained the legal consequences, and gave her exactly twenty-four hours to get the apartment in order. They didn't care about her explanations, they didn't try to empathize, and they certainly weren't there to help her. Yes, social services operated with strict, bureaucratic rigidity. Angelina had heard stories before, but experiencing it firsthand was entirely different. Angelina tried to tackle everything at once. She changed diapers, ordered food deliveries and baby supplies for Peter, and brewed her fifth cup of tea—which magically managed to go cold almost instantly. She washed dishes, fed Peter... and amidst the chaos, she did her best not to lose her mind. The boxes remained untouched in the hallway. The doorbell rang again. Opening it, she saw the male police officer who had visited the night before. What was his name? Angelina couldn't remember. He was holding a leather folder. “I won’t take up much of your time. Just a couple of signatures and I'll be out of your hair.” Slush was melting off his boots, soaking into her welcome mat. In the living room, Peter was wailing. Angelina walked up to the officer, buried her face in his shoulder, and broke down sobbing. He looked at her in utter astonishment, then slowly, tentatively, placed a comforting hand on her back. “Hey, hey... shh, it’s alright. What's wrong? What happened?”