When the 911 operator asked if there was an adult in the house who could help, I almost laughed. I was the adult. And apparently, the only one who cared. “Ma’am, stay on the line with me,” the dispatcher said. “Keep giving gentle compressions in the center of her chest. You’re doing great. Help is on the way.” My knees were digging into the living room rug. Lily lay on a folded towel on the coffee table, her tiny body frighteningly still. I counted compressions aloud the way the operator told me