Chloe’s backpack strap twisted under her arm.
Daniel’s laptop open on the island with a spreadsheet still glowing.
The cinnamon plug-in near the hallway outlet, hot to the touch.
The little brass key dish by the door, sitting exactly where Daniel always left it.
Almost exactly.
One officer moved toward the laundry room.
Another asked me to step back while the paramedics lifted Chloe onto a stretcher.
I wanted to say no.
I wanted to grab her and run.
I wanted to tell them she hated being strapped down, hated tight sleeves, hated anybody touching her hair when she was scared.
But her chest was still moving, and that mattered more than my instincts.
That is the terrible bargain emergencies make with you.
You can feel everything later.
Right now, you obey the people who know how to keep someone breathing.
The kitchen froze around them.
A paramedic’s glove squeaked against the stretcher rail.
