We ran through the glass double doors into Trauma Bay Two, the thick rubber soles of my work boots squeaking on the polished tile floor.

“How long was she locked in?” Nurse Sarah asked, setting up an IV line while two technicians peeled off Lily’s damp pink fleece blanket.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“My seven-year-old son pedaled three miles across town on his red bicycle to my job site on Thomas Road to get me.”

I pulled Noah against my hip.

His right pant leg was torn and dark with dried blood where he had fallen on the gravel, but his fingers gripped my leather tool belt so hard his knuckles went white.

“What was the temperature inside that garage?” Sarah asked, placing a round blue heart sensor on Lily’s red chest.