Sixteen years ago, I found a newborn baby in the trunk of a car and eventually became her father. On her sixteenth birthday, another car showed up at my garage. When I opened the trunk, the same yellow blanket was waiting inside. Sixteen years ago, I was thirty-nine, single, and better at rebuilding transmissions than holding babies. I worked at a neighborhood garage with three other mechanics: Frank, Dennis, and Ray. One January morning, my boss tossed me a key ring while I was pouring coffee. “Blue sedan outside,” he said. “Tow truck brought it in overnight. Owner says it
