I looked directly at them.
“Now I’m going to recover every dollar, every key, and every secret you stole.”
My father smirked.
“You’re a government-paid sergeant. Don’t threaten people who can destroy you with a single phone call.”
That was his first mistake.
Upstairs, I laid Emily on the bed and checked Sophie.
Her tiny hands were ice cold.
But she was breathing.
I called 911.
While waiting for paramedics, I heated towels, wrapped them in blankets, checked Emily’s pulse, and refused to let my parents come near either of them.
“You’re overreacting,” my mother said from the doorway.
“They were only outside a few minutes.”
“The doctor can tell us how many minutes it takes for a baby to die from exposure,” I replied.
She went silent.
Twelve minutes later, the ambulance arrived.
The paramedics confirmed hypothermia.
