He didn't immediately brake hard. He didn't jump out of the car like a hero in a movie. He passed her. For a few seconds, he did what too many people do. He told himself that maybe he hadn't seen what he thought he saw. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe someone had already called. Maybe intervening would only make the situation worse.
Many men would continue to drive.
Daniel was one of those men for a while.
But not that night.
He stopped far in front of her, far enough away that his headlights wouldn't blind or block her. He activated the emergency alarm. Then he stepped out into the diesel wind.
At first, the cold covered him.
From the trunk, he pulled out the orange roadside triangle that Sarah had bought him years ago. It was one of her practical little gifts, the kind that hinted at his life without saying too much. He opened it on the asphalt, and the reflective edge caught the light of the sodium lamp and threw it back.
He then called 911.
No heroic acts.
Just a number.
She told the dispatcher there was a child on the side of I-75 heading North, about 33 miles away. Maybe seven or eight years old. Carrying a baby. She said he was staying away from her.
