I awaken to the sound of the doorbell and retreating footsteps. I wonder if it’s the mailman, although he never rings the doorbell. With a tired sigh, I stretch my limbs as I sit up. My neck aches painfully, punishing me for falling asleep on the couch. Somehow I never learn from my idle mistakes. Standing, I stretch some more, relieving some tension from my sore muscles. Damn stiff couch! I reach my door within a few steps and peek through the peephole. No one is there. It must’ve been a petty prank by the teenage boys down the street. Regardless, I open my door and look outside. Nothing. I begin to shut my door, slightly jarred for being woken up this early over nothing, when suddenly I spot something peculiar on my porch. I hadn’t noticed it at first. And boy did I wish I could shut my door and ignore THAT on my doorstep! But how could anyone just ignore a baby in a car seat?! Especially one with a big pink bow strapped to the handle. Rooted to the spot, I stared down at the infant who was wide awake. And she stared right back at me with such bizarre intensity as if she was questioning what I’d do next. Unable to look at the infant any longer, I scramble away from the doorway and search for my phone among the mess of my living room. Finally finding it under the coffee table, I dial the only number on my contact list– my sister. “Hey bro, what’s cookin’?” “Liz, there’s a baby on my doorstep,” I tell her, panicked. “Woah, are you serious?” She asks, skepticism clear in her tone. “YES! I’ve never been more serious in my life!” “Um...ok...I’ll be at yours in ten,” she tells me, “and in the meantime, calm yourself.” I groan, “just get here please.” She hangs up, leaving me alone in silence. I glance back at the door, hoping I’m only dreaming. But the baby is still there. Realizing I shouldn’t leave her outside in the chilly weather, I pick up the car seat by the handle and bring her inside. I place it on the couch and slump down next to it. “Where did you come from?” I mumble, glancing at the pink bow. I then notice a piece of paper pinned to the bow. Carefully, I unpin the note. It’s folded in half, a few black smudges seeping through, and I assume it’s from a sharpie. With curiosity I unfold the note and read: ‘Her name is Maya, she’s yours.’ I fold the note as it was before and stuff it in my pocket. My head begins to throb. This can’t be real, this must be some sick joke. At last, my sister arrives. She enters breathlessly, her hair in a messy bun, wrinkled jacket, and mismatched shoes. “What?” She rolls her eyes at me, “obviously I rushed to get here.” Before I could reply back, she’s already at my side and glancing down at the baby. “Aw she’s so cute bro! How’d she end up at your door?” I shrug, running my hand through my hair. “I don’t know Liz, I heard the doorbell ring and when I opened the door, there she was.” “And you didn’t see anyone else outside?” “Nope,” I shake my head, “What should I do? This was attached to the handle,” I retrieve the note from my pocket and hand it to my sister. Her eyebrows furrow as she reads it, and then she looks back at me in surprise. “Wow bro, never thought you’d be a dad anytime soon. Congrats,” she chuckles lightly and smiles at me, almost jokingly. “Damnit Liz, this ain’t funny,” I groan, “this is a prank don’t you think?” “Don’t be stupid. Does this little cutie really look like a prank to you?” my sister turns her attention to the baby and unstrapps the seat belt. “She looks about 5 months old.” I observe my sister lift the child into her arms gently. She’s always been great with children, while I avoid them at all costs. “Hey bro, I think Maya actually looks like you.” “Huh?” I blink, and suddenly my sister is placing the infant into my arms before I can protest. “Liz, no, please take her back!” I panic, staring down at the bundle in my arms. Her eyes are shut this time. It seems that she has fallen asleep. “Take her back Liz!” I whisper-shout, but my sister is only smiling at me with her arms crossed. “You’re doing just fine, bro.” I gulp, my eyes glued to the sleeping child. I’ve only held an infant once in my entire 30 years and I didn’t like it at all. But somehow, this wasn’t so bad the second time. It felt...not awful, although very foreign and scary. I was so focused on holding the baby that I barely heard my sister whisper “you’re going to be a great dad.” Silently, I hoped she was right.