No Forgiveness

My four-year-old son dies after someone crashes into him with a motorcycle. The culprit is a college freshman who's just been admitted.

I'm devastated, but my husband generously forgives her. "We have to give her a chance since she's such an outstanding student. She's still young—we can't ruin her future."

Ha. She has plenty of opportunities and a bright future ahead of her.

What about my son? He was only four.

Later, I rip his letter of forgiveness to pieces before his face.

He wants me to forgive the young lady?

No way in hell!

"Mommy… it hurts so bad…"

I snapped back to reality when I heard my four-year-old son, Cyril Walker, crying out.

We were crossing the street just moments ago when a motorcycle's headlight blazed toward us like a comet. Before I knew it, a huge force slammed into us, sending Cyril and me flying through the air.

For a split second, everything went dead quiet.

When I finally heard something again, it was Cyril's weak cries. "Mommy… Mommy… It hurts…"

I struggled to open my eyes, but everything was a blur, my mind completely blank. All I could make out was smoke billowing from a motorcycle and the chilling sight of blood smeared across the crosswalk.

Cyril's face was drenched in blood, his limbs bent in ways they shouldn't. I cried my eyes out.

"Cyril, Cyril! My sweet baby! It's okay. I'm right here. I'm right here with you!"

My hands trembled as I held my finger near his nose. His breath was so weak. It felt like it was barely there.

"Cyril, Cyril, are you okay? Please, don't scare me…" I cried out, losing it as tears poured down, blending with the blood on his face.

My husband, Trevor Walker, worked at the hospital nearby. I grabbed my phone and tried calling him—once, twice, three times—but it wouldn't connect.

Cyril's voice shook as he asked, "Do you think Daddy… can stop the bleeding?"

I pulled him close and nodded frantically. "Absolutely! Cyril, just hang in there! I'll get you to your dad right now!"

But when I grabbed my phone to call 911 again, it suddenly died—the battery was completely drained.

I glanced up, desperate for help, and saw a young woman hesitantly walking toward me. Her voice trembled as she asked her friend, "Roxanne... You don't think he's... He can't be dead, can he?"

Her friend, Roxanne Walker, walked over in her white lace flats.

She sounded exasperated. "Ugh, seriously? We finally got our acceptance letters and just wanted to chill for a bit, but then we ran into them. Why weren't they paying attention when they crossed the street? Talk about bad luck."

With her voice still shaking, the first woman said, "Roxanne... the light was green for them…"

I couldn't care less about any of that. I grabbed the pair of white lace flats and shouted at the top of my lungs, "Call 911, hurry! Get an ambulance! Get an ambulance, now!"

Roxanne yanked her feet back, clearly disgusted. "What's wrong with you? These shoes are all white! Look at what you did to them!"

Then, she let out a sneer, kicking Cyril's limp little hand with her foot.

"Looks like this one's a goner, huh?" she mocked.

Roxanne glanced back at her friend and said nonchalantly, "No cameras around. We'll just say they darted into the street out of nowhere, cool?"

I swatted her foot away and looked up to meet Roxanne's spiteful eyes. "What did you just say?"

I could barely believe what I was hearing. She actually hit us and was planning to just walk away from the mess she caused.

Roxanne took a step back, disgust written all over her face.

Then, she waved her phone, her voice dripping with disdain. "Is this how you're going to act when you need us to call an ambulance?"

I turned to Cyril, noticing his eyes losing its sharpness. I pushed through the burning pain in my body, forced myself to my feet, and lunged at Roxanne.

"Give me the phone!" My voice cracked as I yelled, "My son's dying! Hurry!"