My mom fell into a coma after a car crash, and my father swore it was caused by a skidding car in the rain. But the next morning, a nurse pulled me aside, showed me hospital security footage, and I realized my father had been hiding something far worse.
Rain lashed against my bedroom window in loud, heavy drops. I had just drifted to sleep when my phone shattered the quiet. The digital clock on my nightstand flashed 11:47 p.m.
“Dad? What’s wrong?” I answered.
“Chloe, you need to come to the hospital right now,” he gasped. “It’s your mother. We were in a terrible accident.”
I sat up in bed. “Is she… alive?”
“She’s breathing, but you need to hurry.”
My phone shattered the quiet.
The emergency room smelled of harsh bleach and damp clothing.
I spotted my father pacing near the triage desk. His suit was slightly wrinkled, but there wasn’t a single scratch on him.
“Dad!” I screamed.
“Chloe,” he said, pulling me into a tight hug.
“Where is she? Can I see her?”
“Not yet. The doctors are still working on her.”
“What happened out there?”
There wasn’t a single scratch on him.
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