Content warning ⚠️: This piece contains descriptions of a car accident, physical trauma, emotional distress, and themes of mortality and self-worth. Please read with care.
It wasn’t supposed to be a big day.
Not a day she’d remember. Not a day anyone else would.
She had errands to run. A list in her head, casual and scattered.
Buy toothpaste.
Call her dad back.
Reply to that work email that had been sitting unopened since Friday.
Try not to cry when she saw that picture of her ex with someone else.
Maybe pick up coffee if she had time. Maybe not.
Just a regular Tuesday.
She remembers the sky.
How it looked like it might rain, but never did.
The clouds sat low, like they were thinking about it, but kept changing their mind.
She remembers the sun slipping through them in streaks, casting everything in that pale gold that makes you feel like something good might still happen.
She remembers laughing about something stupid on the radio.
A caller-in telling a story about dropping their phone in a blender. She'd laughed out loud, alone in the car.
Her hand resting lightly on the gearstick. Her windows cracked just enough to let in the summer.
She remembers the light turning green.
And then—
Nothing.
Not immediately.
Not all at once.
At first it was just a flicker.
A second too long between breaths.
The world paused.
But eventually, the noise folded in on itself. The metal screamed louder than she did. Her chest hit the steering wheel with a force that stole the air from her lungs, her voice, her thoughts.
The world tilted sideways, and she swore the wind got knocked out of time. Like someone hit pause, then play, then rewind—all in the same breath.
She remembers trying to move.
Her fingers. Her foot.
Nothing worked the way it was supposed to.
Her limbs felt borrowed. Heavy. Disconnected.
What’s strange is that she didn’t panic right away.
She thought: My groceries. I didn’t put them in the fridge.
Then: Who will feed the cat?
Then: Did I tell my mom I love her the last time we talked?
She couldn’t remember.
Blood slipped into her mouth. Warm. Salty. Familiar.
She tasted metal and panic and regret.
She thought about all the things she hadn’t done.
The book she hadn’t finished because she was always too tired.
The guy she never texted back—not because she wasn’t interested, but because she was scared of starting something she didn’t feel good enough for.
The voicemail she saved but never replied to.
That apology she never gave.
She thought about all the mornings she stood in front of the mirror, picking herself apart.
How many times she’d pulled at her skin, wishing her face looked different.
How many times she’d said cruel things to her own reflection, and called herself names she wouldn't say to a stranger.
Now, with blood drying on her lips and glass in her hair, it felt stupid. Absurd.
How precious her face felt now. Even bruised. Even broken.
She thought about all the nights she prayed for the pain to stop—
The ache in her chest that no one saw.
The loneliness that followed her like a shadow.
The quiet despair she dressed up with smiles.
She had begged for peace.
For rest.
For the heaviness to lift.
But not like this.
God, not like this.
The sirens came late, as they do.
Too late for what she needed. Maybe not too late for what she was becoming.
She heard voices. Felt hands. They were gentle but frantic.
And when the paramedics leaned over her, asked her name, told her to stay awake, she tried.
God, she tried.
But her lips were trembling and her body was cold and everything she’d never said—
every unsent text, every swallowed apology, every "I love you" she meant to say but never did—
—was stuck in her throat.
I’m not ready.
I want more.
Please don’t let this be the end of me.
But all that came out was a whisper.
“Tell my mom…”
And then it was quiet.
Author’s Note:
This piece poured out of me slowly, like something I’d been holding in for a long time without realizing. It’s fiction, but the thoughts are real—the kind of quiet fears and regrets we tuck away and only unpack when life catches us off guard.
If this story stirred something in you, I hope you know you’re not alone.
Be gentle with yourself today. You’re still here. That matters.
in case you missed it…
I have always thought about what would happen if I experienced this. What would be my last thoughts? What would be running through my mind? That, tell my mom.....
That hit me deep.
It’s beautiful, imagined heartache, love, regret and human aspects of love. I did not get to say goodbye to my son, who was in and out of a coma then he suffered brain damage. I was not there at the end, but instead of triggering me, this was beautiful to read. I look forward to reading more.