Strawberry Milk for Winter

The snow was falling relentlessly.

Under the dim streetlights, the world was painted in shades of white and grey, the streets buried beneath a thick blanket of snow.

The wind howled between buildings, rattling windows and sweeping loose snow across the pavements.

A young woman trudged through the snow, a backpack clutched tightly against her chest.

She shivered beneath her oversized puffer jacket, her fingers numb from the cold. Her boots sank into the snow with every step, leaving deep tracks behind her. She kept her head lowered, her face hidden beneath the hood of her jacket, and continued walking.

The backpack in her arms was small.

Too small to carry much.

Yet she held it as though it weighed more than she could bear.

She walked for several more minutes before finally reaching her destination: a collection area lined with rubbish bins and recycling containers. The place was deserted, save for the snow gathering on the lids and the wind whistling through the narrow alley.

She stopped.

For a long moment, she simply stood there, staring at the bins.

Then her gaze dropped to the backpack.

Her fingers tightened around its straps.

The wind tugged at her jacket, and snowflakes settled on her shoulders. She remained motionless, caught between the bag in her arms and the dark opening of the nearest bin.

Finally, she took a few steps backwards.

And threw the backpack away.

It landed inside the bin with a dull thud.

The woman stood still for another second.

Then she turned around and walked away.

Her boots left fresh tracks in the snow, the marks stretching behind her until the falling flakes began to cover them. She never looked back.

An elderly woman was making her rounds through the neighbourhood, collecting recyclable materials from the bins.

She had been doing this for years. It was exhausting work, especially during winter, but she had grown accustomed to the cold and the long hours. There were always bottles to collect, cardboard to sort, and discarded things that might still be worth something.

As she approached the collection area, she noticed a figure disappearing into the distance.

A young woman.

The elderly woman slowed, watching her retreating silhouette before glancing towards the bins.

Had she thrown something away?

Perhaps something useful.

With renewed interest, the ahjumma hurried towards the container she had seen the young woman approach. She brushed snow from the rim and peered inside.

At first, she saw nothing unusual.

Then she heard something.

A faint sound.

She frowned and leaned closer.

The wind howled through the alley, drowning out almost everything around her. She could barely hear herself breathe, let alone whatever strange noise had caught her attention.

There it was again.

A tiny, fragile cry.

The ahjumma froze.

She leaned over the edge of the bin, straining to listen.

Another cry reached her ears.

Her eyes widened.

“Good heavens…”

She scrambled to climb inside.

Her old knees protested as she lowered herself into the container, pushing aside discarded cardboard and plastic bags. Her hands searched frantically until they found a backpack.

It was the same one the young woman had thrown away.

With trembling fingers, she pulled it closer and opened it.

For a moment, she couldn't move.

Inside was a baby.

A newborn.

His tiny face was frighteningly pale, his skin tinged blue from the cold. His little body trembled weakly, and his cries were so faint that the howling wind had nearly stolen them from the world.

“Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness!”

The ahjumma's voice broke.

“Who could do such a thing to you?”

She reached into the backpack and carefully lifted the infant into her arms. He was terribly cold. His tiny fingers barely moved against her hand.

Panic seized her.

Without wasting another second, she pulled open her puffer jacket and tucked the baby against her chest, wrapping the fabric around his fragile body as tightly as she dared.

“Please, please hold on,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Grandmother is here. I've got you.”

She climbed out of the bin as quickly as her old knees could allow, nearly slipping when her boots met the snow-covered ground.

Then she ran.

The cold bit into her cheeks but she didn't stop. She held the baby close, shielding his face from the snow as she hurried through the deserted streets towards the nearest hospital.

Every few steps, she looked down at him.

“Just a little longer, sweetheart. Please.”

The hospital lights appeared in the distance.

She pushed through the entrance, breathless and shaking, and called desperately for help.

Medical staff rushed towards her.

“It's a newborn! I found him in a rubbish bin! He's freezing!”

A nurse took one look at the infant and immediately called for assistance. Within moments, a team had gathered around them.

The ahjumma watched helplessly as the baby was carefully taken from her arms and placed into the hands of the medical staff.

“Please save him,” she begged. “Please. He's just a baby.”

No one could promise her anything.

The staff hurried away with the infant, leaving her standing in the hospital corridor with her jacket hanging open and her arms suddenly, terribly empty.

She stared after them.

The corridor outside the newborn intensive care unit was quiet.

Beyond the closed doors, doctors and nurses worked beneath bright lights, doing everything they could for the tiny life that had nearly been lost before it had truly begun.

The elderly woman stood outside, her hands clasped together.

Snow melted from the hem of her trousers, leaving dark patches on the hospital floor. Her breathing had finally steadied, but her heart continued to pound.

She didn't know the baby's name.

She didn't know who his parents were, or why anyone would leave a newborn in a place where the cold could kill him.

She knew nothing about the life that had brought him to that bin.

All she knew was that he had been alone.

The ahjumma bowed her head, whispering a prayer for the child behind those doors.

Outside, the snow continued to fall.

And somewhere beyond the hospital walls, the footprints of the woman who had abandoned him were disappearing beneath the white blanket of winter.