The dream seemed endless for baby Mai, it was just blurred blobs of black and white, hearing voices she couldn’t seem to quite grasp, still getting used to the fact that she was alive and breathing. All the things newborn babies couldn’t grasp.

She let out a quiet sound as she slept—a small, soft, sleepy sigh that came out in a smoky breeze against the cold, frigid air.

She was warm though, a few blankets surrounded her, a snuggly beanie on top of her head, and a basket surrounding her that acted as a bed. Her cheeks and the tip of her button nose were redder than cherries as the cold air blew against her face, making her tiny face twitch slightly, before relaxing into something peaceful once more.

Though, Mai didn’t stay asleep for long, something pulled her out of her sleep—a noise, something like a pipe bursting, and it seemed to startle her. Her vision was blurry, eyes half-open from sleepiness. She didn’t know where she was, could barely see a thing, all she felt was the wind blowing against her. No voice was there trying to shush her, to tell her that she was okay. She was alone.

And something in her tiny brain seemed to grasp that. Alone. Her eyes started to water and her bottom lip began to jut out, a telltale sign that she was about to cry.

Then it happened, at first, it was a little hiccuping sobs, before it turned into full-on wailing, inhaling heavy lungfuls of cold air, screeching at the top of her little lungs, the sounds echoing off the walls and coming right back at her, making her cry louder from how scared she was.