2 weeks later.
Tap, Tap, Tap. I look up and see a man tapping on my car window, his flashlight shining in the window of my car before he moves it around, looking in the back of it. I put my hand up when the torch flashes across my face blindingly. He quickly moves it to the side.
“Ma’am, you can’t stay here,” the middle-aged man tells me; he has to be council security because of his uniform. My son Valarian stirs, the bright light waking him, and he lets out an irritated cry. The man moves his torch away entirely, shining it at the ground, and Valarian stops.
“Look, I have noticed your car here for nearly two weeks; this is a train station,” he sighs as I pick up my son out of his fruit box bed and roll down the window a bit so he doesn’t keep yelling, thinking I can’t hear him.
“You really have no place to go, no family?” He asks.
“No, the council kicked me out of the park” he runs a hand down his face before glancing around the parking lot.
“The baby’s father?” I shook my head, knowing that wasn’t an option. He didn’t even believe me, refused to see me even when I begged him to let me on his territory so I could show him the scan, every other time, he hung up the moment he heard my voice, after a while, I gave up.
“You know there are people out that would take him, then you could probably go home.”
“I am not abandoning my baby like my parents did me,” I tell him, outraged he would even suggest it.
“This is no life for a child. You’re young if you give him up. You could still have a normal life. Something to think about. I will give you another week to find somewhere else. After that, you need to move on,” he says, and I nod before winding the window up.
I watch him leave before settling my son and putting him back to bed in the fruit box beside me. I have always been paranoid of rolling on him while asleep, tugging the blanket up over both of us before trying to get comfortable. A single tear runs down my cheek as I think of his words. “This was no life for a child” Was I being selfish? Yet, the thought of giving him up broke my heart. He was mine. I loved him and would give my life for my little man, wasn’t that enough?
Waking up the following day, I groan; it is pouring with rain. I rummage through the back for my umbrella before slipping my shoes on. Making sure my son is bundled nice and warm, I grab my bucket in one hand and pop the umbrella up as I open the hatchback. It was still early.
I then pick up my son and make a run for it to the train station bathrooms. Needing to be extra careful not to slip on the wet ground. Once I get into the disabled toilet, I jam the bucket in the sink, filling it with warm water before shimming my pants down to pee. One thing I hated about being homeless was holding my son while going to the bathroom. I couldn’t place him down anywhere, making it hard to use the toilet while making sure not to drop him. When I finish, I slide my pants up with one hand, which is tricky while holding my son. I then wash my hand before turning the tap off.
Now the tricky part. Holding an umbrella, a baby, and a bucket of water. Somehow I manage it and make it back to the car before placing the bucket down and quickly opening the hatchback to my wagon. I set my son in his bed before hauling my tiny bucket in. I then changed his bum and used soap to lather my washcloth, and gave him a wash down before dressing him, so he was all nice and fresh for the day.
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