Page 127 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

No. She won’t be coming with the kid.

She’s just doing her job.

“I’m organizing a helicopter as we speak. They’ll be lifting off and at your spot in two to five minutes. Continue doing compressions as long as feasible for you both. I’ve dispatched two ambulances, and four police officers are on their way, including the sheriff.”

The sheriff is coming. Good. Dad had to have reached him by now.

“Any other injured individuals?”

Mikayla finishes another round of compressions and waits for Dimitri to do another round of breaths to answer. Her eyes briefly find me.

“No.”

Bitch.

She still hates me. Great.

“Jessica! Breathe!! Please!!” Clearly, the mother has lost hope as she cries her heart out. She might as well start planning the funeral than thinking anything is coming out of this.

My girl is still trying.

Compressing.

Counting.

Fighting for breath.

I can see how exhausted she is now.

Her shoulders move up and down with her rapid breaths, but she still keeps going.

Again, and again, and again.

The silence surrounds us as more people are out of their cars. Watching the chaos frightens me. Cameras are out. All on record. Focused on the nurse in red who’s desperately trying to save a dead nine-year-old.

They’ll paint a narrative.

Whatever gets clicks.

It makes me fear the worse, but I can’t move.

I can’t leave until I can make a report.

By the time we can hear the helicopter in the distance, the two nurses can barely move.

“Any success? The flight paramedics are a minute away.”

Neither of them answers, the two of them looking at each other instead.

I can’t understand what’s being exchanged, but with a unified nod, they gather the strength to try again.

This is hopeless.

It takes everything in me not to comment on what’s really on my mind.

My girl is just trying because this child is called Jessica.If she had been named after someone else, she would have given up.

It’s obvious.

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