Two newborn girls lay on the sand.
"Did you hear that?"
One was wrapped in white.
The other was wrapped in pink.
For a second, I froze.
Then my body moved before my grief could stop it.
"Chris! Call for help. Now."
Then my body moved.
He pulled out his phone while I dropped to my knees.
"They're breathing," I said. "They're cold, but they're breathing."
One baby screamed until her face turned red.
"That's it," I whispered, pulling my jacket around both of them without moving them too much. "Stay loud. Stay with me."
"They're cold, but they're breathing."
Help came fast.
Police. Paramedics. Questions.
I answered every question I could.
I couldn't walk away.
A social worker named Andrea came later, calm and careful.
Police. Paramedics. Questions.
"You did the right thing by calling," she said.
"Are they going to be okay?"
"They're warm now. Breathing. Loud." Her expression softened. "That's a good start."
