“Stay on the line with me. Keep her head tilted back to clear her airway.”

My mother watched me, her fingers tightening around the strap of her large, black leather purse.

She didn’t run.

She didn’t even look afraid.

She just stood by the kitchen table, her gaze fixed on the small leather bag clutching to her side.

“You’re making a scene, Jake,” she said softly.

“The neighbors will hear you.”

“I don’t care about the neighbors!” I yelled, my voice breaking.

“You hurt her.”

“I protected this family,” my mother said, her tone sharpening.

“She was going to ruin everything.”

Megan let out a sharp, wet cough, her body jerking against mine.

“Megan, please,” I begged, smoothing her damp hair back from her forehead.

Her forehead was burning hot, a stark contrast to her freezing hands.

“The paramedics are turning onto your street now, sir,” the operator’s voice crackled.

“I can hear the sirens,” I said.

The distant wail of a siren bounced off the brick buildings outside our window.

The sound grew louder, shaking the loose glass in our kitchen window frame.