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Everyone Refused to Give CPR to a Homeless Man with No Arms – I Stepped In, and the Next Day, a Red Mercedes Was Waiting on My Porch
He was sitting outside a sandwich shop, eating lunch in full uniform. He had just texted me that he finally remembered to buy the Dijon mustard I’d been asking for.
Leo had a sudden and massive heart attack.
Pedestrians saw him slump forward. Commuters stepped around him. Someone even recorded him on their phone, zooming in while his fingers scraped against the pavement for help.
My husband had spent 15 years saving strangers, kicking in doors, giving CPR, talking down men with weapons, and women with nothing left.
Pedestrians saw him slump forward.
He was the best policeman this city had ever seen.
And that day? Absolutely nobody saved him.
By the time I found out, it was already too late. Half of Leo’s sandwich was still in its wrapper, and the mustard sat unopened in the bag.
I remember looking at the paramedic as he waited for me to sign a form.
“Did anyone help him?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his head. “No one did. A woman called us while she was driving. But… someone filmed the incident, though.”
I promised myself that I would never be the person who walked away. Never. But even that promise felt small as I thought about what I was going to tell my children.
