One night I wrote her a long letter explaining everything that had happened when I was seventeen and slipped it under her bedroom door.
The letter was gone the next morning.
Last Saturday everything changed.
Emily had left the house angry after a tense morning. A few minutes later I noticed the lunch I’d packed still sitting on the counter.
Without thinking, I grabbed it and ran after her.
She was halfway down the street with her headphones on.
I stepped off the driveway calling her name.
That’s when a car sped around the corner.
I don’t remember the impact.
The next thing I remember was waking briefly in an ambulance.
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room. Hours had passed.
A nurse told me I had lost a dangerous amount of blood. My blood type—AB negative—was rare, and they had very little supply.
Fortunately, a donor had been found.
Marcus sat beside the bed looking exhausted.
I tried to speak but only one word came out.
“Emily.”
“She’s in the hallway,” Marcus said softly. “She’s been there for two hours. She saved your life. She donated the blood.”
When I woke again later that day, Emily was sitting beside my bed.
She was watching me quietly.
I tried to say her name.