Chapter 2 - The Defective Lifeline
My husband didn't hesitate.
He ripped off his seatbelt and climbed through the tiny partition into the back of the ambulance.
His years of training took over instantly as he shoved the panicked rookie medic aside.
He started chest compressions with a terrifying, rhythmic intensity.
I sat frozen in the passenger seat, watching the chaotic blur through the small glass window.
Every thrust of his hands against Harper's tiny chest felt like a hammer striking my own soul.
"Push epinephrine," he barked at the medic.
The medic scrambled for the trauma bag, his hands shaking as he drew a fresh vial.
I prayed to whatever was listening that we would make it to the emergency room in time.
The ambulance swung wildly around a corner, throwing me against the door.
Through the window, I saw the monitor blip once.
Then it blipped again.
A weak, erratic rhythm replaced the flatline just as the hospital's red emergency awning came into view.
We slammed to a halt, and a swarm of doctors and nurses descended on the rig.
They pulled the stretcher out, rushing Harper through the double doors before I could even catch my breath.
My husband stepped out, his uniform soaked in sweat, his hands trembling for the first time in his career.
He held out the used auto-injector that he had grabbed from his work bag back at the house.
I looked at it, confused about why he was staring at it with such sheer hatred.
"It didn't deploy correctly," he whispered.
He twisted the plastic casing open with a loud crack.
The internal glass cartridge was completely shattered.
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Someone had deliberately crushed the vial inside before it was ever used.
And the only person who had been alone near his work bag all morning was my mother.
