Racheal sat there, her heart pounding in her chest as the sound of the sirens grew louder, closer, yet it felt like time had slowed to an agonizing crawl.
Her trembling hands were stained with blood, her son’s blood. The cold realization settled in her bones, twisting her stomach into knots.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
Chloe hovered next to her, clutching her phone, the distress in her voice apparent as she barked instructions into the receiver. “They’re coming. They’re almost here. Just hold on, Racheal. Jamal’s going to be okay.”
But Racheal wasn’t sure if she believed her. The blood, the stillness, the dread creeping up her spine—it all felt too overwhelming.
She clung to her son’s small body, her breaths coming in shallow, desperate gasps. Her throat felt raw, as
