A barefoot boy was crying uncontrollably, pounding his fists against the car door. As I approached and peered inside, a shiver ran down my spine. I immediately pulled out my phone and called 911.
I was heading to my car when I spotted hima small child, barefoot on the scorching asphalt, hitting the black sedans door with his tiny fists. Alone. No adults in sight, no voices nearbyjust his broken sobs and the dull thuds against the metal.
I froze. The scene was like something from a nightmare: a child in the parking lot, eyes red, hands shaking, surrounded by empty silence. I stepped closer, my heart in my throat. He pointed at the car, struck the door again, and burst into fresh tears.
I leaned toward the windowfogged up. The boy tugged my hand and pointed inside once more.
Still crying, I hugged him. I bent over the windshield, and what I saw inside stunned me. Without hesitation, I dialed 911
When rescuers arrived and we opened the car together, the truth became clear. In the front seat lay an unconscious womanlater identified as the boys mother.
She had felt ill while driving and realized exhaust fumes were leaking into the cabin.
With her remaining strength, she managed to push her son out, but she couldnt escape herself. The door shut, trapping her inside, helpless.
The woman was rushed to the hospital. For hours, doctors fought to save her, and fortunately, she pulled through.
The boy was also examinedthough overwhelmed by distress, he had only minor scrapes and burns on his feet from the pavement.
Standing there beside him, I couldnt stop thinking how close this had come to disaster. One slight changeand the story would have ended very differently.
