The operator’s calm voice felt surreal against the panic filling my living room. “Is she breathing?”
“No,” I gasped. “My baby isn’t breathing.”
When the paramedics arrived, Linda tried to explain herself—talking quickly, defending her actions like she was the victim of my supposed “overreaction.” They ignored her. They took Sophie from my arms, placed a tiny oxygen mask over her face, and I followed them out barefoot, my heart pounding painfully.
Inside the ambulance, I stared at Sophie’s limp little hand and one awful thought kept repeating in my mind:
If I had been five minutes later, she’d be gone.
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