Across her chest, tied with a faded blue T-shirt, was a makeshift sling. Inside it, a fragile baby slept—skin pale, breathing shallow in the cold morning air.
The girl moved carefully, almost instinctively. She picked up cans with practiced hands, adjusting the sling gently so she wouldn’t wake the baby. There was no panic in her movements—only routine. Survival. Every now and then, she leaned her small body forward, shielding the baby from the wind.
