Because of the Accident (Book 1)

Chapter 1

A week had passed since the accident, and today was the day. The day when everything was supposed to change, the day I had been hoping for and dreading in equal measure: the day of her surgery. But as I sat in the hospital waiting room, my body rigid, my mind was miles away, replaying the same terrible moment over and over again. My chest felt tight, and each breath came with a struggle, as if the air was too heavy to inhale. The sterile white walls of the hospital only made it worse. The smell of antiseptic and the cold, mechanical beeping of distant machines were constant reminders of where I was and why I was here.

It was too much. The endless waiting, the uncertainty, the fear. The hours stretched like days, every tick of the clock feeling like an eternity. My hands, resting in my lap, were trembling slightly, and I balled them into fists to stop the shaking. I tried to keep my thoughts at bay, but they kept circling back to the accident, back to the day my life changed forever. The tears began before I could stop them, hot and unwelcome, trickling down my cheeks in a slow, agonizing stream. My skin, dark from years of sun-kissed days spent outdoors, now felt pale and cold under the harsh fluorescent lighting. I had never felt so distant from myself. So lost.

"It's all my fault," I whispered under my breath, my voice hoarse. I could barely hear myself, but the guilt was deafening inside my head. "I shouldn't have driven that day."

The words stuck in my throat like a thorn, each repetition digging deeper into the pit of guilt that had formed in my chest. I had said it to myself a thousand times since that day, and each time it only made the pain sharper. It wasn't a fluke, it wasn't an accident of fate—it was my decision, my actions that had led to this. Autumn, my beautiful wife, was lying in a hospital bed because of me.

I could feel the tears building again, heavier this time, stinging my eyes until they blurred my vision. My chest ached, not from crying but from the constant suffocating weight of grief and guilt. The thought of losing her completely felt like a cold hand gripping my heart and squeezing, and no matter how much I tried to prepare myself for the possibility, I couldn't. I wasn't ready to lose her. Not now, not ever.

I was lost in my thoughts when I heard a soft voice call out my name.

"Floyd?"

I snapped my head up, startled. The nurse stood before me, her face full of the kind of forced compassion you'd expect in a place like this. I could feel my heart leap into my throat as I scrambled to my feet, every muscle in my body tense and ready for the worst news possible.

"Yes?" My voice came out louder than I intended, and my breath caught. "What is it? Is she okay?!"

The nurse paused, and in that tiny moment of hesitation, I felt the ground beneath me begin to crack. Her eyes softened, and I could already tell what she was about to say before she even opened her mouth. My mind refused to accept it, but my body knew.

"Floyd..." she began softly, the pity in her voice unmistakable. "We did everything we could—"

"No." The word left my mouth before I could even think. "No, no, no... she's not... she can't..."

Without thinking, I pushed past the nurse, nearly knocking her off balance. My feet moved before my brain could catch up, and I found myself running down the hallway, my vision a blur of white walls and bright fluorescent lights. My only thought was to get to her—to see her, to be with her. As I ran, I called out her name, over and over, my voice breaking with desperation.

"Autumn! Autumn!"

I couldn't think. My mind was a chaotic storm of emotions—fear, denial, panic—and none of it made sense. I stumbled through the hallway, my heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. I had to get to her. I had to see her. Maybe... maybe the nurse was wrong. Maybe there was still a chance. But when I reached room 105 and flung open the door, all hope drained from me in an instant.