“Where am I supposed to go?”
“That’s not my problem.”
His face twisted.
“Get out. I don’t need a sick daughter like you in this house.”
The words carved into me. Sick daughter. Like I was diseased, broken, wrong. I looked at Mom, begging silently. Say something. Stop him. Tell him this is insane. She turned away. Kept her arm around Madison. I grabbed my jacket from the hook. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely zip it. The door slammed behind me. Through the window, I could see Madison watching me leave. She wasn’t crying anymore. She was smiling.
The rain hit me like a wall. Cold. Angry. Within seconds, I was soaked through. I stood on the porch for a moment, waiting. Maybe Dad would come after me. Apologize. Say he’d overreacted. The door stayed closed. I started walking. Nowhere to go. Just away. Away from that house, away from Madison’s lies, away from parents who believed I was sick. My phone buzzed. Low battery: eight percent. I pulled it out, tried calling my friend Sarah. No answer. Jessica. Straight to voicemail. It was Friday night. Everyone was home with their families. Safe, dry. Not me. The wind whipped my hair into my face. Rain came down in sheets. I could barely see ten feet ahead. Cars drove past, spraying water from puddles. No one stopped. I headed toward the library. Maybe I could wait out the storm there. It was closed. Dark windows, locked doors. The bus station was two miles away. If I could make it there, I could sit inside, stay warm, figure out what to do. I walked. Every step was heavy. My shoes were soaked through, water squelching with each footfall. My jacket clung to my skin. I was so cold my teeth chattered. Thunder cracked overhead. Lightning split the sky. I thought about turning back, knocking on the door, begging to come home. But the look on Dad’s face, the disgust, I couldn’t unsee it. Sick daughter. Maybe he was right. Maybe something was wrong with me. Why else would my own family choose Madison over me every single time?
The bus station was still a mile away. The rain got heavier, the wind stronger. I didn’t see the headlights until it was almost too late. I was crossing at an intersection. The light was green. I’m sure it was green, but the rain was coming down so hard and the wind was howling and I couldn’t see clearly. The car came out of nowhere. Headlights bright and blinding, a horn blaring, brakes screeching. I tried to jump back. I wasn’t fast enough. The impact threw me sideways. I felt my body hit the hood, then the pavement hard. My head cracked against the asphalt. Pain exploded through my skull, white-hot and all-consuming. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Rain poured into my mouth, my eyes. Everything was sideways. Wrong. I heard a car door slam, footsteps running, splashing through water.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.”
A woman’s voice, panicked.
“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”
I tried to answer. Nothing came out.
“Don’t move. Just—just stay still. I’m calling 911.”
Her hands were on my shoulder. Gentle.
“Stay with me, okay? What’s your name?”
I blinked, tried to focus. Her face was blurry, dark hair, rain streaming down her cheeks. She looked familiar. Had I seen her before?
“My parents…” I managed. My voice was barely a whisper.
“Your parents? Okay. What’s their number? I’ll call them.”
“They don’t…” I coughed. Tasted blood. “They don’t want me.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“They kicked me out. Said I’m sick. Don’t want me anymore.”
She stared at me, rain pouring down between us. I saw something shift in her expression. Recognition, maybe. Or horror.
“You’re going to be okay,” she said. But her voice shook. “I promise. You’re going to be okay.”
Sirens in the distance, getting closer. The woman’s face was the last thing I saw before everything went black.
I don’t remember the ambulance. Don’t remember arriving at the hospital. My first clear memory is sound. Beeping machines, fluorescent lights buzzing, the smell of antiseptic, and a voice. The woman from the accident.
“She has a severe concussion, possible internal bleeding. You need to keep her for observation.”
I tried to open my eyes. Too heavy. Everything hurt.
“I’m staying.”
That same voice. Firm now, not panicked anymore.
“I’m not leaving her alone.”
“Ma’am, are you family?”
“I’m the one who hit her with my car. I’m staying until her parents arrive.”
Time passed. I drifted in and out. Voices came and went. At some point, I heard new voices, familiar ones.
“We’re Olivia Sterling’s parents.”
Dad. He sounded strained.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sterling.”
The woman’s voice again. Cold now. Professional.
“I’m Dr. Eleanor Smith.”
A pause. Recognition clicking.
“You—you’re a professor at State University,” Mom said.
“I am Dean of Graduate Studies, actually.”
Her tone could cut glass.
“I’m the one who hit your daughter with my car tonight.”
“It was an accident,” Dad said quickly. “We don’t blame—”
“She ran across the road in the middle of a storm. She was soaking wet, alone at night.”
Dr. Smith’s voice rose.
“She was fifteen years old. Why was she out there?”
Silence.
“Mr. Sterling, I asked you a question.”
