Chapter 1
I didn’t know it then, but that was the last time my life would ever feel normal.
I leaned my head against the window, the cool glass pressing into my cheek as the car hummed along the road. Outside, the world blurred—streaks of green and brown from endless fields dotted with farmhouses, and the distant, shadowy outline of the mountains. Everything felt calm. Too calm.
I tugged out one earbud, letting the soft hum of my music fade. My parents’ voices filtered in—muffled, familiar, comforting. They were probably talking about weekend plans or something on the news. My dad laughed, that deep, booming sound that always filled the car, and my mom’s laughter followed, light and teasing. I couldn’t make out their words, but I didn’t need to. It was always like this—easy and predictable.I glanced at my mom in the front seat. Her face was relaxed, her fingers tapping lightly on the armrest to the rhythm of the music playing softly from the radio. She hummed along, even though she didn’t know the words. She always did that, turned every song into a hum. My dad used to tease her, saying she could make any tune into a never-ending melody, but she’d just smile and say music was about feeling, not words.
That’s how she was—she had a way of making everything feel lighter, easier. Maybe that’s why I loved autumn so much—it was her favorite season. She’d take me on long walks through parks and down backroads just to hear the crunch of leaves beneath our feet. “It’s the season of change,” she’d say. “It’s when the world reminds us to let go.”I hadn’t understood what she meant back then. Now, I wished I had asked her more.
Beside her, my dad tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, his face calm and content like it always was when he was behind the wheel. The road was his sanctuary. He used to tell me stories about how he’d take cross-country trips when he was younger, driving just for the thrill of it. To him, the road was freedom, the unknown waiting around each bend.
I remember waking up one night when I was six or seven to find him in the kitchen, a map spread across the table. He was plotting a route with a red marker. When I asked where he was going, he just smiled and said, “Wherever the road takes me.”The next morning, it was just the two of us driving down some backroad only he knew. No destination. No plan. Just driving. We stopped at tiny gas stations, bought snacks, and listened to his old rock records blasting from the speakers. That day has stayed with me, etched into my memory as one of the few times I felt like the world was wide open, waiting for me.
Now, sitting in the backseat, I watched those same little details—my mom’s humming, my dad’s easy smile—unfolding again, like nothing had changed. But something had. I could feel it, deep in my gut. The air felt too still, too quiet. Like the calm before a storm.
“Katana, honey, what are you listening to back there?” my mom asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
I pulled out my other earbud and met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Just some music.”
She smiled, her face glowing in the warm, late-afternoon sun. “Anything good?
I shrugged. “It’s alright.”
My dad chuckled and glanced at me over his shoulder for a moment. “You know, we’re not too old to know what’s good.”
I rolled my eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Sure, Dad.”He laughed again, his focus shifting back to the road, his hands resting loosely on the wheel. The car hummed along, the rhythmic sound of tires on pavement lulling me into a strange sense of security. It felt so normal. Too normal.
I leaned back into my seat, staring out the window at the fields rushing by. There was something comforting about the way the trees blurred together, the sun stretching its golden light across the horizon. I should’ve been bored by the routine of it all, by the predictability. But instead, something gnawed at me. A feeling I couldn’t name. My mom’s laugh echoed through the car again, pulling me out of my thoughts. It was the kind of laugh that filled a room, warm and contagious. I loved that laugh. It reminded me of late nights spent watching old movies together, curled up on the couch. My mom had always been obsessed with classic films, especially anything with Audrey Hepburn. She used to say she’d been born in the wrong time, that she belonged in the world of black-and-white cinema where everything was beautiful and problems could be solved in a couple of hours.
“Do you remember the first time we took you to the mountains?” my dad asked, breaking the silence. “You couldn’t stop asking if we were there yet.” I smiled at the memory. I must have been four or five, bouncing in my seat, full of excitement. It was one of our first big family trips, and I couldn’t wait to see the top of the mountain.
“Yeah, I remember,” I said softly, my gaze drifting to the mountains in the distance.
“We should go again this fall,” my mom said, her voice wistful. “It’s been too long.” I nodded, the idea filling me with a strange warmth. I could picture us there—standing at the overlook, the trees below us a sea of red and gold. I could almost feel the crisp, cold air against my skin.
The sun had begun its slow descent behind the hills, casting long shadows across the road. The golden light filled the car, turning everything soft and hazy. I glanced at the dashboard. 4:23 p.m. My mom had always said autumn felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for winter to settle in. I used to laugh at her for saying that, but now… now I couldn’t help but think she might be right. I closed my eyes for just a second, the sound of my parents’ voices fading into the background. The warmth of the car wrapped around me, lulling me into a sense of safety, of peace.
Then the world exploded.
A blinding flash of light. The screech of tires. My body lurched sideways, slamming into the door. My mom’s scream ripped through the air, sharp and panicked. My dad shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the deafening sound of metal crunching, grinding, twisting. The car jerked violently, spinning.
Everything was chaos—endless noise, unbearable noise.
And then… silence.
For a moment, I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. The world around me felt frozen, suspended in that brief, terrifying silence after everything shatters. I opened my eyes, pain shooting through my side. My head throbbed, my ears ringing with a high-pitched hum. The car was at a strange angle, the windshield shattered, the front end crumpled like a piece of paper. Smoke curled from the engine, filling the air with a sharp, acrid smell.
“Mom?” My voice came out weak, barely a whisper.
No response.
I turned slowly, my vision blurry, and saw her slumped forward in her seat, her seatbelt digging into her chest. Blood trickled down the side of her neck, soaking into her shirt. Bright red against pale fabric.
“Mom!” Louder this time, but still nothing. I twisted in my seat, my heart racing, searching for my dad. He was slumped over the steering wheel, motionless.
“Dad!” I screamed, my voice breaking. “Dad, wake up!”
No movement. No sound.
Panic surged through me, and I fumbled with my seatbelt, my hands trembling. I had to get out. I had to help them. I had to—“Help!” I screamed, my voice hoarse. “Somebody help!” The only sounds were the creaks of the car settling, the faint hiss of steam rising from the engine, and the distant rustle of wind. No footsteps. No voices.
I was alone.
I crawled over the wreckage, my legs heavy and useless. Every movement sent waves of pain through my body, but I didn’t care. I reached for the broken window, pulling myself out, my hands slipping on the shattered glass. Blood smeared across my palms, but I kept pulling, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. When I finally dragged myself out of the car, the cold air hit me like a slap. The sky had darkened, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the road. I stumbled to my feet, my legs shaking beneath me, and tried to take a step, but my body gave out, collapsing onto the hard pavement. I lay there for a moment, my face pressed against the ground, the smell of dirt and gasoline filling my lungs. My head spun, dark spots dancing in front of my eyes. I couldn’t pass out. Not yet. I had to stay awake. I had to—I rolled onto my back, staring up at the darkening sky. My chest heaved, each breath sharp and shallow. The pain was unbearable, but it didn’t matter.
My parents were dead.
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the thought to go away, but it didn’t. It was there, suffocating me, crushing me.
They were gone.
I felt a sob rising in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t break down. Not now. I had to move. I had to—
“Hey! Over here!” The voice was distant, but it cut through the fog in my mind like a lifeline. I opened my eyes, blinking up at the fading sky. Dark shapes moved toward me, their footsteps quick and urgent. I tried to call out, but no sound came. My throat was too dry, my chest too tight.
Hands lifted me off the ground, firm and steady. I flinched, my body screaming in protest, but I didn’t have the strength to fight. “She’s alive,” one of them said, his voice low and urgent. “Get the stretcher.”
Alive. That word felt strange, foreign. Like it didn’t apply to me anymore. As they carried me toward the flashing lights of the ambulance, I let my head fall back. Red and blue lights flickered in and out of focus, illuminating the scene like a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.
“Stay with me,” one of the rescuers said, his voice cutting through the haze. “You’re going to be okay.” But I wasn’t sure what “okay” meant anymore. They laid me on the stretcher, strapping me in. The cold metal pressed against my back, and I stared up at the night sky, my vision swimming. The last thing I saw before the ambulance doors closed was the wreckage of our car, twisted and broken, my parents still inside.
The doors slammed shut, and the world went dark. I wasn’t sure if anything would ever make sense again.
