Our blood on your hands

Tears slide down my face as I process what the lady standing over me is saying. I don’t understand . I can’t be dead. Not yet!
Mom won’t look daddy in the eyes, and I know she blames dad. But, it isn’t his fault, not at all. If he hadn’t let me go out, I would have snuck out. Only the kid who was way too intoxicated to be behind the wheel, and the people who provided a minor alcohol. My blood is on their hand, along with my four month old’s. Our family’s lives had been torn apart due to this man’s stupidity. I always listened to adults when they said to not drink and drive, but because one person didn’t, I was being punished.
Daddy, for the first time in ten years, has tears running like a river down his cheeks as he begs for his only child back.
Mom looks like death, black smudged mascara down her face, hair messed up through her nervous habit of running her fingers through her hair, and the same wrinkled tshirt she had worn for the past three days straight.
When his friends allowed the kid to drive, he broke my family and friends. Please don’t drink and drive, no matter how skilled you think you are.