New Mexico fireman Chris Martinez only half-joked a few years ago that he wanted the first baby dropped off at his fire station under a new “safe haven” program.

The so-called baby box, provided through a nonprofit organization allowing anonymous and safe ways for mothers in crisis to surrender their newborns, had been placed at his Belen Fire Department about four months prior and had never been utilized.

But then came Feb. 6, 2024, when a woman’s decision to place her baby with the fire department granted the prayers of a fertility challenged couple longing for a child and spurred a potential change in New Mexico’s adoption laws.

In a recent interview — as their 2-year-old toddler smiled and chattered — doting parents Chris and Janae Martinez of Albuquerque recounted their journey with PEOPLE. 

It started with a bad day for Chris and ended as “the best day ever,” he says.

The lieutenant, 45, had responded to a structure fire about 1 a.m. that Thursday two years ago. In the course of fighting the blaze, his gear melted and burned his ears and wrists, and he had to go to the hospital to be treated. A woman died.

Not long after Chris returned to his station, he was told by another lieutenant that a baby might have just been left in the department’s new safe haven box, a temperature-controlled unit in a secluded location on the side of the building.

Even though it was afternoon by then, “No one saw anyone,” Chris recalls.

The box had a timer that provided about a minute for anyone leaving a newborn to leave “peacefully and remain anonymous,” he says.

Alerted to the new arrival, the firemen opened the box and found a newborn boy turning blue — with his umbilical cord still attached and in obvious distress. 

“I knew from the moment I saw him I wanted to be his dad,” Chris says.

He says they provided oxygen for the baby, warmed him up and took him to a local hospital, where he was treated in the neonatal intensive care unit for pneumonia, fluid in his lungs and a brain bleed. 

“He had five different drugs in his system and just a number of things,” Chris says. “He had to stay in the hospital for almost two months.” 

And every day, Chris and Janae, 41, were there making sure he wasn’t alone in the world. The couple, who say they had tried unsuccessfully for some 15 years to have a child, knew in their hearts he was going to go home with them.

It was good timing: The couple had just become certified as foster parents, so they were allowed to keep the boy as a foster child while they went through the adoption process — a year that proved to be emotionally grueling. That’s because New Mexico law requires a biological parent to identify themselves to authorities, even if they’ve utilized the safe haven baby box. But the newborn’s mom didn’t.

Chris and Janae say they had to wait, with notices placed in local papers, urging his birth parents to come forward. They also attended multiple stressful court appearances, waiting for prospective relatives that never arrived. 

Legally, Janae says, the boy didn’t have a name and for his first year was referred to as Baby Boy Doe in all documents.

Even a trip to the pediatrician meant being called in as “Baby Boy Doe” instead of Mikel, which is what his future parents wanted to name him. 

His name has deep meaning to the couple: Mikel is a tribute to Chris’ brother, who had died at 37 in 2012. His middle name, Gracen, reflects the grace of God who answered their prayers, they say.

“He didn’t have an identity, he didn’t have a birth certificate, he didn’t have a Social Security card. He didn’t have anything for a whole year,” Janae says. “It was hard, people not calling him by his name. He’s not a nobody, he’s somebody. He’s a Martinez.”

No one ever appeared from the baby’s biological family. New Mexico also required a DNA test, in part to make sure the child wasn’t indigenous because, in that case, the baby would have been given to their tribe.

“I don’t know what we would do at this time if the mother or relative showed up,” Janae remembers thinking. “I guess we’ll just cross that bridge if we ever come to it.”

Finally came adoption day, on March 10, 2025. There was a festive party with family and mariachis.

“It symbolized so much. We finally got to rest and finally, officially, be a family,” Janae says.

While it would have been easy to settle into their comfortable lives with little Mikey, the couple says they felt an obligation to tell their story and to help any way they could to bring attention to the gaps they encountered in New Mexico’s laws.

Because the baby boxes are so new, the couple says, the state has been been adhering to old protocols to track down parents who leave their newborns — rather than provide them the anonymity that is part of the safe haven program.

On Jan. 30, state Sen. David Gallegos introduced a bill that, if passed, would guarantee the privacy and anonymity of any mother who decides to surrender her child under the safe haven program. Only specific circumstances of neglect or abuse would result in the parent or parents being investigated.

Though Gallegos’ proposal has stalled, efforts continue.

“We thank the mother so much for making the bravest decision and I can’t even imagine. She wanted a better life for Mikey,” Janae says. “Just knowing that if he was not placed in that box — where would he be right now? That breaks my heart.”

With their son, the Martinezes say, they are now living the life they imaged for themselves decades ago.

Chris was a local musician working side jobs when he met Janae in 2003. She worked for a local radio station, where she still does an afternoon program on KOB-FM.

Both were born and raised in Albuquerque; both came from large, hard-working, close families. The couple married in 2010 and encountered fertility issues.

Janae says the day the doctor told her she likely “would not be a mother” was “devastating,” and she and her husband stopped fertility treatments and opted to become foster parents. Not long after, Mikey appeared at the station.

These days, their parents still live close by, eager to jump in and help.

Janae works three jobs, while Chris cut down to “just one” when he was promoted in the fire department. They also still do short-term foster care.

Next, Chris looks forward to retiring in about three years, with Janae looking at about five more years of work. They have other priorities at home. 

“We were always just work, work, work,” Chris says. “But life is not all about working. It’s about relaxing and enjoying him [our son]. We are going to have so much fun.”