𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝

𝟸𝟿

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Some memories never fade, no matter how much yuh beg yuh mind to let them go.
That day haunted me like a shadow I could never escape.

I could still feel Amira's hand in mine, her laugh dancing in my ears as we stepped out of the family yard to head to the car. She was so full of life, so beautiful... and she was mine.
I squeezed her hand, pulling her a little closer as we joked about what we would eat when we got home.

Then it happened.

Tires screeched.

I turned my head just in time to see a black car flying around the corner, heading straight for us.
There was no time to react, no time to think.
I yanked Amira toward me, trying to shield her with my body, but the impact came too fast.
The car slammed into us, throwing our bodies across the pavement like rag dolls.

{🤣 sorry sorry.}

I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of me. My head spun, my vision blurred, but through it all, I could see her.
Amira.
Lying there.
Not moving.

I crawled to her, my body screaming in pain, my palms scraping against the rough asphalt. I reached out and touched her face. Cold. Too cold.

"Amira," I whispered, shaking her gently. "Mama, wake up, please... please wake up."

Blood seeped from a gash on her forehead, running down the side of her face. Her chest rose, barely. Shallow, weak.

People were screaming around us. Sirens in the distance.
But all I could focus on was her.

The paramedics arrived in a blur. They pulled me away even though I fought them, screaming.

"Bredda let mi guh! Mi nah lef har!" I yelled, struggling against their hands.

One of them held me tight, whispering,
"Yuh affi let wi work, sweetheart. Please."

I watched them lift her onto a stretcher and race her to the ambulance. I tried to climb in after her, but my father caught me by the arm, dragging me back.

"Let dem do dem job, Domanique," he said roughly, his voice tight.

I sat in the hospital waiting room for what felt like years. My clothes were soaked with blood — hers, mine, I didn't even know. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Hours later, a doctor came out, looking grim. He spoke to my father first, pulling him aside.
I stood there, trying to read their faces, but my father wouldn't even look at me.

When he finally came back, his words shattered whatever was left of me.

"She's in a coma," he said flatly. "It nuh look good."