“I’m here,” I kept saying. “I’m here. I got you.”
A paramedic knelt beside us and asked Noah if he could wiggle his fingers.
Noah tried.
His lower lip trembled.
“It hurts.”
“I know, buddy,” the paramedic said. “We’re going to help.”
Lena crawled toward us more than walked.
“Noah,” she sobbed. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Noah looked at her, and his little face twisted with confusion.
He loved her.
He was afraid.
A child should never have to hold both those feelings in the same body.
I looked at Lena and wanted to say every cruel thing that had built itself inside me during that drive.
I wanted to ask how she did not see it.
I wanted to ask why Travis was ever alone with him.
I wanted to punish her with words because I could not undo what had happened.
