I couldn’t sleep that night. The driver who hit me had never been found, and now Hannah seemed connected to that night.
The next morning, someone knocked on my door.
It was Hannah, her eyes swollen from crying.
“Matt, is the wheelchair really why you think I ran?” she asked.
I stared at her.
“The night you were hit by that car,” she continued, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
My heart raced.
“Were you driving?”
“No!” she said quickly. “I wasn’t driving. Is that what you thought?”
“Nancy said you felt guilty.”
“I do. Because I was there.”
“Where?”
“At the hospital. I was your nurse.”
I couldn’t believe it.
“My shift had ended, but the hospital was short-staffed, so Nancy asked me to stay. You were unconscious and heavily medicated.”
“Did we talk?”
“A little. You kept asking for Rachel. Sometimes you grabbed my hand and begged me not to leave.”
