She didn’t hear Michael’s words, didn’t feel his hug. She was surrounded by a fog that only thickened with the memory of that night. A scream rang through her ears, a familiar scream from her own lips.
“Nooo . . . Andrew,” she yelled, the EMT holding onto her preventing her from running to the car and interfering with their attempt at extracting her baby boy. She watched the driver of the other car being led by the cop, a bandage on his forehead. You should be the one dead, she thought, not my Andrew. She fell to her knees crying into the pavement.
“Abby, love,” she heard above her. Even behind his pain, she knew the voice, the tone of his tongue. She instinctively jumped into his arms, sobbing into his chest. Michael held onto her sneaking peeks at the wreck behind him, catching glimpses of the rescue crew tearing apart the car. He saw the man in handcuffs.
“I’ll be right back, love.”
“Michael?” He let her go. Rage coursing though his veins, he didn’t think about his next actions. All he knew was that his son was dead and the man responsible was within reach.
Under the willow tree, Michael hugged Abby as she shook in his arms.