Ch. 487: Mr. Edwards’ Unraveled Life Chapter 487

Chapter 487

The child clung to her like a kitten, his small hand pressed against her chest, surprisingly strong for his size. Norah thought about moving his hand, but then she heard his soft, tender voice: "Your heartbeat is so calming…"

He even hugged her tighter.

Norah had been a war correspondent for five years, and she hadn’t been around children much. But this child… stirred something deep inside her. His voice was soft, yet it gripped her heart.

She carried him outside, but the wind and sand were relentless. Thankfully, they quickly made it to a Craggaville military vehicle.

"Comrade, please take us to the embassy," Norah said.

"Understood, comrade," the soldier driving replied, glancing at the press card hanging around Norah’s neck and the small child in her arms.

The drive to the embassy took over 40 minutes. Once there, Norah carried the child inside and approached the person in charge, intending to hand the child over. But the boy gripped her hand tightly, refusing to let go.

"You don’t have to be afraid. These are our people. They’ll help us get home and find your parents," Norah reassured him.

It was clear the child had been separated from his family. Maybe his parents were already gone. But all Norah could do was leave him at the embassy and trust the staff to handle his case.

The child hid behind Norah, refusing to step forward no matter how much she or the person in charge coaxed him. The person in charge sighed. "If the child won’t talk and insists on staying with you, can you look after him for a while? The fighting has paused for a few days, so you’ll have some time to calm him down. I’ll contact a specialist in the meantime."

Before Norah could respond, she felt the child’s grip tighten. She looked down and saw his dark, obsidian-like eyes welling up with tears.

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Alright."

She’d already captured all the footage she needed, so reporting while caring for the child wasn’t impossible.

"Please register before you leave," the person in charge said.

"Of course," Norah replied.

After completing the paperwork, Norah left with the child.

At another base, a man in camouflage stood in front of a screen. Behind it was a shadowy figure, their face obscured.

The man reported dutifully, "Sanshao, I’ve sent the person over as instructed."

"Good. Stick to the plan," a low voice responded from behind the screen.

"Yes, sir," the man replied, standing at attention before exiting.

Because of her role, Norah lived on the military base, allowing her to report on events as they unfolded. But now, with the child in tow, she had to take him back to her tent. She didn’t have any clothes for him, so she gave him a camouflage short-sleeve shirt.

Norah sat the child on her cot. "Wait here. I’ll get some water."

The boy nodded.

She returned with a basin of warm water and gently cleaned the dirt and ash from his face. Underneath the grime was a sweet, pink-cheeked boy who looked like he belonged on a New Year’s card. His hair was uneven, as if it had been cut haphazardly. In another life, free from war, he would’ve been a happy little boy.

Norah ruffled his hair. "Can you tell me your name? Are you scared to stay at the embassy because of your parents…?"

"I’ve never seen my parents," the boy murmured, his voice hoarse and filled with sadness.

Norah’s heart ached. She’d been in Country S for five years, witnessing everything from small skirmishes to full-blown conflicts. The boy’s words suggested his parents had been absent from the start. What a tragic life for such a young child.

"Do you… not have a name?" Norah asked softly, handing him a glass of water. She knelt in front of him, trying to connect.

The boy didn’t take the water. He stayed silent, looking like a child who’d been scolded and was now drowning in guilt.

Norah sighed. He was clearly a troubled child. But in a war zone, which child wasn’t scarred?

An idea struck her: if she used children and the elderly as the focus of her reporting, could it inspire peace efforts in war-torn regions?

She took the boy’s hand. "If you don’t have a name, can I give you one?"

She’d initially thought his white shirt meant he came from a wealthy family. But now it seemed more likely he’d found it in the trash. The boy had never known his parents, and his memories of them were probably nonexistent.

"My name is Cooper," the boy said slowly.

"Cooper," Norah repeated, smiling. "Your parents must’ve hoped you’d shine as bright as the stars and moon. You’ll stay with me for a few days, and then I’ll take you to the embassy. But I might not be able to take care of you all the time."

The person in charge had mentioned a temporary truce, but the situation could change at any moment. She needed to prepare Cooper for that.

But Cooper’s eyes filled with tears as he looked at her pleadingly. "I don’t… have anywhere to go… Can you… keep me…?"

His speech was slow and halting, as if stringing together more than four words was a struggle. Norah realized why he avoided the embassy—he likely had no one and nowhere to go.

"You don’t have a home, and I can’t always take care of you. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of when the time comes. You must be hungry. Let me see if I can find you something to eat."

The boy was pitiful, but there were countless others like him. She’d chosen this profession, and she had a duty to fulfill. Bringing a child along would only tie her down.

Cooper nodded.

Soon, Norah returned with two sweet potatoes. "It’s not much, but it’s something. Eat up, Cooper."

The boy nodded again, his small hands clutching the sweet potatoes as Norah watched him, her heart heavy with the weight of the world around them.