“Rachel, the light’s flashing!”
“We can make it!”
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Headlights rushed toward us. I shoved her onto the curb, but the car struck me.
Everything went black. My last memory was the ring box in my pocket.
When I woke in the hospital, a doctor explained that I had a serious spinal cord injury.
“You can’t feel your legs, can you?”
I tried moving them. Nothing.
“Will I walk again?”
“The chances are very small.”
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Rachel had escaped with bruises. I was grateful she was safe, but she visited me only twice.
During her second visit, she stared at the floor.
“Matt, I can’t do this. The hospitals, the wheelchair, everything.”
“You don’t have to take care of me.”
“I know, but I can’t pretend things will be the same.”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
She cried and apologized. I wanted to beg her to stay, but my parents had abandoned me when I was eight, and my grandmother, Marta, had raised me until she died two years before the accident. Rachel was the last person I had.
