Two weeks later, I was leaving the community pool when I heard shouting.
A mother had run inside for “just a second,” and her toddler had managed to lock himself in their SUV. She’d forgotten the keys inside. The child was sobbing, red-faced, while people scrambled around trying to find help.
I didn’t think. I moved fast.
“Call 911!” I shouted. “Get something to break the window!”
Someone ran to their truck for a tool kit while I tried to calm the mother. Her name was Rachel, and she was shaking uncontrollably.
“Is he okay?” she asked over and over. “Is he breathing?”
“He will be,” I said. “We’ll get him out.”
When the paramedics arrived and finally pulled the boy out—safe, just a little hot and scared—I felt a rush of relief that made my knees weak.
