A nurse entered, talking about IV fluids, blood pressure, and how it was a miracle I was still alive. She mentioned my SUV had gone off the road near a mountain curve.

Everyone kept repeating the same thing:

“Poor Emily… she lost control.”

But I didn’t remember losing control.

The last thing I remembered was Ryan—my husband—sitting at the kitchen table, sliding papers toward me.

“Just sign, Em. It’s to protect our assets.”

I refused.

That same night, my brakes failed.

The door opened again.

Ethan quickly let go of my hand.

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

“I just wanted to see her.”

“Go sit with your Aunt Claire.”

Claire.

My sister.

The one who braided my hair when we were little. The one who cried in the hospital, saying she’d give her life for me.

Her heels clicked into the room.

“Let him say goodbye,” she said. “The notary will be here soon.”

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