Caroline Morgan, 32, Luton
Tucking my baby girl’s favourite teddy under her arm, I clasped my hand to my mouth and stifled sobs. ‘Come on, Jadae,’ I pleaded, watching her chest rise heavily, inflated by the life-support tube sticking out of her mouth.
‘Wake up, baby.’
It’d been six weeks since Jadae, then 7, had been hit by a car outside our house.
I’d just popped round to a neighbour’s place on 20 September 2015.
My eldest Jermayi, then 8, and youngest, Jahzel, 4, were in our back garden, while Jadae was playing on the street with a friend.
It wasn’t unusual, it wasn’t a busy road.
‘You two be careful,’ I warned, though, as I crossed it.
But, as I stepped through the neighbour’s back door, we both heard…
