To tell my father the truth.
To make him see I wasn’t the monster Matteo was painting me into.
My hands shook as I signed the papers. My lawyer kept talking—something about staying silent, about truth eventually coming out—but it all blurred together.
All I could hear was my heartbeat and the dull hum of the world outside the station.
When I finally stepped into the car, I exGrantd shakily for the first time in what felt like days.
I was free.
Or so I believed.
Halfway through the ride, headlights suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
Everything happened too fast.
Tires screamed against asphalt. A horn blared. The world tilted violently as if it had been ripped off its axis.
Then came the crash.
Metal screamed. Glass shattered. Everything went white—then black.
When I came to, pain was everywhere.
My neck. My ribs. My legs. I tried to move, but nothing responded the way it should have.
Panic rose instantly.
“What—what’s wrong with me?” I gasped.
A nurse rushed in, her voice trying to stay calm. “Ma’am, please try not to panic.”
“My legs,” I whispered, voice shaking. “I can’t feel my legs.”
She hesitated before answering. “You were in a severe accident. You’re lucky to be alive.”