Chapter 1: The Accident

The screech of my brakes came too late—the thud beneath my tires will haunt me forever. For a heartbeat, the world stopped. My hands locked on the wheel, every muscle rigid, the city’s neon glare and exhaust stinging my senses. I was frozen in shock. My mind kept replaying the moment, searching for a way to undo it. I wanted to wake up, to rewind, but the world kept moving.

I hadn’t seen him. The kid was dressed all in black, lying flat across the asphalt at night, invisible until the last second. The glare of the traffic lights, the smell of burnt rubber, and the sticky warmth of spilled soda by the curb—all blurred as my heart hammered in my chest, panic rising like a flood. My breaths came shallow and fast. I scrambled out of the car, desperate to check if he was alive. Just then, a woman tore across the street, her screams shredding the night. She pounded on the hood, fists drumming wildly, then beat at my shoulders, sobbing, “Get off him! You’re killing my baby!”

Her hand left a raw, burning sting on my cheek. All I could do was pray the little boy would be okay. I dropped to my knees, reaching for a pulse, calling out for help. But when I bent down, the horror hit me like a punch to the gut.

His head was crushed.

A crowd started to gather, drawn by the chaos—some filming on their phones, others shouting, "Call 911!" An old man cursed from the curb, his face twisted with fury. Only then did I piece together what happened.

The boy and his mom had been playing. He got tired, whined to be carried. She refused. So he threw himself down at the intersection, throwing a tantrum. His mother just turned away, leaving him sprawled in the middle of the street, kicking and screaming, while she walked off. It was dark, and in black clothes, he was invisible. The car ahead of me swerved last minute. Even though I slammed on the brakes, I still ran him over.

My mind blanked. It was over. My life—ruined. I’d killed someone. I’d crushed a child’s head. There was no coming back from that.

People’s pain and joy mean nothing to each other. I watched the woman collapse in the street, sobbing so hard her whole body shook. In that moment, I didn’t see a grieving mother—I saw someone who’d just destroyed my life.

I’d done everything right my whole life, followed every rule, and now—because of this woman’s mistake—I’d killed a child. My life was finished.

Suddenly, a headline flashed through my mind—something I’d scrolled past on Twitter a week ago. Ohio kid survives after lying in the street. That driver got lucky. I didn’t.

The woman seemed to finally understand the truth. She slumped to the ground, howling, then shrieked, “Come here! The child’s dead! Get over here!”

My heart stuttered. I looked where she was screaming and saw a man break into a run, barreling toward me.

Dread surged through me, cold and electric. My hands shook. I could hear my own pulse pounding, louder than the city.

I wanted to run. But I couldn’t leave—I just wanted to make it home alive.