Start fresh? As if I would walk away lighter instead of changed.
The light flipped green. She pressed the gas.
I didn’t see the other car until it was already there, headlights cutting through the storm, too fast and too close—
Impact.
The sound of the world collapsing inward. Metal screaming and glass shattering. My body was thrown sideways as the seatbelt caught, the world tilting, spinning, then going still. The airbag hung deflated beside me, smoke and dust filling the cabin. Melanie’s voice came from somewhere far away, muffled and panicked. My breathing sounded wrong, uneven, like it belonged to someone else.
Rain dripped through the broken window as sirens wailed closer. Voices shouted, hands pulled at the door until metal groaned and gave. I thought about how easily everything shattered—how one decision could harden into a consequence.Was this punishment?The question slipped in, uninvited. Then hands lifted me onto a stretcher, rain cold against my face, someone calling my name in a voice I couldn’t place. The ambulance doors slammed shut. A paramedic leaned over me. “Just breathe.”
I tried.
An oxygen mask was pressed over my nose and mouth, and the cool plastic felt comforting against my skin. My vision tunneled, and sound fell away. All that remained was the rhythm of my heart, unsteady and afraid, but still beating.
Then nothing.
The first thingI noticed was the bright light through my eyelids. Then the steady beep of a monitor. My mouth was dry. My throat hurt. When I tried to swallow, something shifted near my nose. Panic came before the memory did.
Hadn’t I just—
I blinked until the ceiling came into focus. White tiles. Metal rails. A hospital.
For a moment, I thought I was waking up after the procedure. That this was recovery. That it was over, and I was no longer carrying the secret. But something felt wrong. The pain wasn’t just in my abdomen. My shoulder ached. My forehead throbbed. There was pressure on my right leg. None of it fit.
I turned my head slowly. Pain shot through my neck.
Across the room, Melanie sat slumped in a plastic chair. Her hair was tangled, her clothes stained. She looked exhausted. Scared.
“Melanie,” I rasped, the word barely a whisper.
Her head snapped up, and she was out of the chair and beside me in seconds. “You’re awake. I was so worried.”
“What… what happened? Did it—did I—?”
“No,” she said. “There was an accident before we got there. I didn’t see the car. It came out of nowhere and slammed into the passenger side door.”
My brain scrambled to make sense of it.
“How long have I been out?”
“A few hours.”
A sudden, terrifying thought hit me. “Where are my kids? Are they okay?”
“They’re fine. They weren’t in the car with us, remember? The nanny is taking good care of them,” she said, clutching my hand.
I tried to hold on to that, but the room kept spinning. Everything felt too bright.
Melanie leaned in, then whispered, “Don’t worry. We can reschedule. There’s still time.”
Then the door opened and Scott walked in, hair disheveled, eyes wide and red.
Oh, thank god.
“Michelle,” he said, his voice breaking on my name.
I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt the tears slide down my face. He crossed the room in three strides and cupped my face in his hands, his forehead flush against mine.
