Helen’s knees gave out.

But Sophie did not hesitate. She scrambled down the slope, slid on her knees beside him, and yanked off her little pink cardigan. Pressing it against the largest wound, she leaned her whole tiny weight onto his chest.

“Hold on,” she whispered firmly, as though she had known him all her life. “I’m not leaving. They told me you need twenty minutes.”

Helen, her hands trembling, fumbled for her phone and called 911. But even as she relayed their location, her eyes never left Sophie. The child was steady, focused, calm—nothing like a kindergartner should be in the face of blood and broken bones. She tilted the man’s head gently, clearing his airway, then pressed harder, whispering soothing words.