The endless blaring of car horns from rush hour rang in my ears.My father, Michael Stern, was already unconscious, laying in the lap of my mother, Edith Christian.We were stuck at an intersection.Outside the car window, my husband's colleague, Francis Light, in a police uniform, was looking at me icily.He said, "Everyone is stuck here. If I were to clear a path just for you, others would call it a misuse of power. Daphne, are you just trying to get me in trouble?"My mother was so anxious that she began sweating profusely. She yelled, "This is a matter of life and death! Is this how you police officers do your job?"Half an hour ago, I returned to the day my father collapsed.Still stuck in traffic, I did not ask my husband, Jonathan Reed, who was conducting the traffic, for help. Instead, I forced my way through the stream of cars and turned sharply into a side road with fewer vehicles.I did not even have the time to step on the gas pedal when Francis appeared, blocking m
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