God, I tried.

But nothing moved.

A nurse walked in, talking about my vitals, the IV, the miracle that I was still alive.

They kept saying the same thing:

“She lost control of the car.”

But I didn’t remember losing control.

The last thing I remembered was Ryan—my husband—sliding papers across the table.

“Just sign, Emily. It protects our assets.”

I said no.

That night, my brakes failed.

The door opened again.

Ethan quickly let go of my hand.

“You again?” Ryan said sharply. “I told you she can’t hear you.”

“I just wanted to see her.”

“Go sit with your aunt.”

Aunt Claire.

My sister.

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