The Loss
baby boy in a grubby t-shirt and a sodden diaper totters down a Los Angeles sidewalk. My husband and I are out for a walk on a Saturday morning, and there isn’t another person in sight. I pick the boy up. Wrap him in my arms. The kid is maybe 18-months old, and his diaper leaks onto my sweatshirt as we ring the doorbell at the nearest house. “Probably one of theirs,” the woman who answers says, pointing to a house across the street. We knock. After several moments the door edges open, revealing…