The Hidden Danger a Brave Child Brought to Light

I can’t open it!”

Higgins laughed—a horrible, dry laugh. “You’ll never open it in time,” she hissed. “It’s airtight.”

I left her to the uniforms and ran to the stroller.

Silva was shredding the seat fabric in panic. No baby. “The bottom,” I muttered.

“It’s fake.”

I drew my tactical knife. “Move!”

I ripped through the pink material, slicing foam and cloth. Underneath was a hard shell.

A concealed compartment. I found the hidden latch near the wheel and pulled. A hiss escaped.

Inside was Janie. Three years old. Curled up in a tiny, suffocating compartment.

Tape over her mouth. Zip-ties cutting into her wrists. Her eyes unfocused, bloodshot, her skin drenched in sweat.

“She’s not breathing!” Silva yelled. “Medic!”

I cut the ties and pulled her out. Her body was limp.

“Come on, sweetheart,” I whispered, laying her on the grass. I started CPR, pressing carefully on her tiny ribs. “One, two, three… breathe.

One, two, three… breathe.”

The only thing that mattered was this child. Then—

A gasp. A tiny cough.

A wheeze. And finally—a piercing scream. She was alive.

A month later, I visited Leo’s home. He was in the yard with a soccer ball. I opened the trunk and pulled out a brand-new, bright red bike.

“Hey, hero,” I called. Leo ran over, eyes shining. “Sergeant Mike!”

“You helped save your sister,” I told him.

“This is for you.”

His mother came out holding Janie. Safe. Happy.

Whole. As I watched them, I took a breath. “You know,” I said to Silva, “we warn kids about dark alleys and scary strangers.”

“Yeah?” he replied.

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