Doctors were swarming. Monitors were screaming that high-pitched, rhythmic alarm that signals a crash. I saw a tube down Lily’s throat. Her skin, usually so pale, was now a translucent gray. She looked tiny in the center of all that machinery.
“Clear!” a doctor shouted.
I watched, helpless, as they worked on her. I was paralyzed in the doorway, my boots continue reading …
