It's been years since that fateful day when everything changed. What transpired was, unfortunately, still fresh in my mind.
As my parents and I drove back home after another of our usual shopping run, soft music played on the radio, some generic pop song everyone was raving over. My parents were laughing as I sat in the car with my plush kitty, Moon, pretending he was hopping over trees that zoomed past us from through the window.
Then there was that loud honk, followed by the tyres squealing as Dad lost control of the steering wheel, and then... blackness.
I remember waking up to the strong odour of chemicals and cleaning materials, as well as the sound of beeping and hurried footsteps through the corridors outside the door—those simple white walls, white flooring, and the white sheet that covered my pale body.
My mother was on her bed next to mine, her face buried in her hands as her hair spilt over, wrapped in bandages and weeping gently.
“Mum?” When she heard my voice, her head snapped up, revealing her tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes. I'd never seen her look that... depressed. She seemed distraught.
“Nova, darling. I'm relieved you're okay. I-I couldn't live with myself if I lost you like-," Her eyes began to swim again as she couldn't seem to finish.
"Where has Dad gone? Does he have another room?" I took a second look around the room, observing that the other beds were all unoccupied. She couldn't respond right away since a nurse came in, evidently to check on us.
"Oh, you're both awake." I'll contact your doctor. Please wait a moment." I remained there watching as she fetched a doctor, who promptly hurried to our room. She was a sweet-looking woman with kind eyes and gentle hands as she examined us.
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"I'm pleased to report that neither of you suffered any life-threatening injuries, and that, in the best-case scenario, you'll both be discharged by the end of the month." She gave me a little smile. I didn't realise it at the time since I was only a young child, but that grin was forced. I'd overlooked her compassionate expression. That awful pity she heaped on us.
"How about my father? Shouldn't he have come in with us? Where has he gone?"
After then, the stillness in the room was oppressive. The doctor shared a glance with my mother, who refused to meet my gaze when I traced it to look at her.
“Nova… it's your father. He’s- Sweetheart, he's gone. I'm very sorry."
What? Gone? Was he already released before we arrived? If that's the case, why are they all so depressed?
Regardless of my thought process, I felt the tears before I recognised they were there. It was as if my heart already understood what my rational thinking was attempting to conceal. He was gone. No. Gone was an overly hopeful way of putting it. They meant he was no longer alive. He was dead.
My father was killed in the collision the moment it happened. There was no time for a rescue, no time for medical attention, and certainly no time for even a solitary farewell.
That night, held in my mother's arms while she grieved with me, I wailed my tiny heart out. I clutched her body as though letting go would cause her to leave me.
I had no memory of when I'd fallen asleep or what happened next until my mother decided it was time for us to relocate.
She complained that the house was becoming a daily reminder of the family we had been, with too many memories of her husband, her love.
Yes, my parents had a soulmate relationship. People who were destined by the cosmos to live and die together till the end. But wasn't this the same universe that led this to happen? After my father died, there was no second chance for my mother. She was now condemned to walk this Earth alone, without the one she loved, with a broken heart full of anguish and despair.
My mother and I are already boarding a plane bound for Brooklyn, New York, to begin over. We would discover a way to keep going and generate new and happier memories with just the two of us.
This wou;d be our fresh beginning.