The rescue team arrived at the decrepit, green house with the broken flower pot, their boots crunching on the brittle, leaf-strewn path. The air was thick with the promise of rain, and urgency hung about them like a tangible force. Inside, they found Mia, still clutching the phone, her small body dwarfed by an old, threadbare blanket that did little to shield her from discomfort.
The team worked swiftly to assess the situation, their motions a blend of practiced efficiency and gentle care. Mia’s legs were swollen, the skin red and angry with bites. A swarm of ants had indeed invaded her bed, turning the sanctuary of sleep into a torturous nest. More concerning, however, was her inability to move her legs.
Mia was rushed to the hospital, the faint hum of the ambulance a stark reminder of the race against time. Her mother, alerted by the authorities, arrived breathless and frantic, her face a tapestry of fear and guilt. “Why didn’t I see this? How could I have left her?”
