“One of the drivers,” I choked out the words. “My wife...”
Not without kindness, he gestured to a second cruiser. “She’s in the back of that one.”
The passenger door opened and Jill climbed out. I put my hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. Scared, but uninjured. I gazed past her to the Pathfinder SUV she’d been driving.
The front end was mangled. Airbags hung from the dash like deflated lungs. A seat belt draped out the driver’s side door like a protective arm now dangling limp toward the pavement. Our truck was bleeding fluid onto the street and it was dying.