Chapter 1 - The Daughter He Left in the Car
After our car accident, I was still trapped inside when my dad shouted at the paramedics to get my sister out first.
Then he pointed toward me.
“Don’t waste time over there. Get Olivia.”
For several seconds, I wondered if the ringing in my ears had changed his words.
Maybe I had misunderstood.
Maybe pain had twisted what I heard.
Then the firefighter nearest me stopped.
His gloved hand rested against the mangled passenger door of my father’s black Lincoln, and his eyes met mine through the broken window.
The expression on his face told me I had heard perfectly.
I was conscious.
And my father knew it.
Emergency lights painted Riverside Drive red and blue. Rain from an earlier storm had left the asphalt shining beneath the ambulances. Someone shouted for hydraulic cutters. Somewhere behind me, metal scraped against pavement.
Olivia had already been removed.
She was sitting beneath a silver emergency blanket twenty feet away, calling for Dad.
“Daddy!”
He ran to her.
I watched him kneel beside her.
“You’re safe, sweetheart. I’m here.”
He took both her hands.
He kissed her knuckles.
I wanted Olivia safe.
That was the part that hurt most.
I had never wanted my father to choose me instead of her.
I simply hadn't known he was capable of choosing at all.
A paramedic leaned through the window.
“Grace?”
I blinked.
“Grace, stay with me.”
I tried to answer, but my throat barely worked.
“We’re getting you out.”
Dad never turned around.
And suddenly, as ridiculous as it seemed with shattered glass around me and pain shooting through my ribs, I thought about packed lunches.
Olivia hated mayonnaise.
She liked turkey sandwiches cut diagonally.
She always forgot to charge her phone.
She needed someone to remind her about biology assignments two days before they were due because one day wasn't enough.
I knew these things because after Mom died, I had quietly become the person who kept our house functioning.
Dad called it helping.
Aunt Meredith called it surviving.
I was seventeen when Mom passed.
Olivia was eleven.
Dad disappeared into grief.
At least that was the explanation everyone gave me.
So I cooked.
I drove Olivia to soccer.
I called the electric company when Dad forgot the bill.
I learned which grocery store marked meat down on Wednesday evenings.
When Olivia turned thirteen and Dad forgot her birthday until almost dinner, I drove to a supermarket, bought cupcakes, and told her Dad had been planning a surprise.
He hadn't.
When I graduated high school, I had been accepted to Boston University.
Dad sat with the acceptance letter in his hands for almost five minutes.
Then he said, “This family needs you right now.”
So I stayed.
Community college.
Double shifts at Miller’s Diner.
Homework after midnight.
Rent contributions.
Groceries.
Gas.
Olivia's school expenses whenever Dad said money was tight.
I kept telling myself there would be time for Grace later.
And finally, three years later, I had created that time.
Inside my backpack was an acceptance letter from Northeastern.
A transfer scholarship.
And a receipt for the deposit on a tiny apartment outside Boston.
I was leaving the week after graduation.
I hadn't told Dad yet.
I had planned everything first because I knew what would happen if I told him too early.
He would remind me how much Olivia needed me.
How expensive life was.
How selfish leaving would be.
So I had waited.
But earlier that evening, before we got into Dad’s Lincoln outside Aunt Meredith’s house, Olivia had said something strange.
“Grace, don’t be mad.”
I had been checking a message from work.
“About what?”
“I only told him because I thought he already knew.”
I looked at her.
“Told who what?”
Dad honked from the driveway.
“Girls!”
Olivia suddenly looked nervous.
“Never mind.”
Ten minutes later, as Dad drove along Riverside Drive, nobody spoke.
Then I smelled something.
A sharp odor.
Almost electrical.
“Dad, do you smell that?”
“No.”
“It smells like something’s burning.”
“The car is fine.”
A minute later, the engine sputtered.
Dad cursed.
The dashboard lights flickered.
Then came a terrible sound from beneath us.
My memory fractured after that.
Headlights.
Dad jerking the wheel.
Olivia screaming.
The Lincoln spinning.
A guardrail.
Then darkness.
When awareness returned, I couldn't move.
Now firefighters were cutting the passenger side open.
I watched Olivia look past Dad toward me.
Something passed over her face.
Guilt.
Fear.
Recognition.
And suddenly I remembered her words.
I only told him because I thought he already knew.
What had she told him?
The metal screamed as firefighters peeled the door away.
“Grace, we're moving you now.”
Pain exploded across my side.
I screamed.
That finally made Dad look over.
Our eyes met.
Only for a second.
He immediately looked away.
That hurt worse than the broken ribs.
The next thing I remembered was the ceiling of an ambulance.
Then nothing.
Three days disappeared.
When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was coming through blinds.
Machines beeped beside me.
My mouth was dry.
Aunt Meredith sat in a chair with her silver hair tied back.
When she realized I was awake, her face crumpled.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She took my hand.
I tried to speak.
“What happened?”
“You're at St. Vincent.”
“Olivia?”
“She’s okay.”
Relief came first.
Whatever else had happened, Olivia was alive.
I closed my eyes.
Then I remembered Riverside Drive.
Dad’s voice.
Don't waste time over there.
My eyes opened again.
A uniformed police officer stood outside my hospital room.
“Why is there a cop?”
Meredith looked toward the door.
Something in her expression frightened me.
“Grace…”
“What?”
“You need to promise me something.”
“What?”
“Don't talk to your father alone.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Why?”
“They found something.”
Before she could explain, footsteps sounded outside.
Dad entered carrying daisies from the hospital gift shop.
Mom had loved daisies.
Dad mostly bought them when he forgot anniversaries.
Seeing them made an old memory rise before I could stop it.
“Gracie.”
He approached the bed.
“You scared us.”
Us.
I stared at the flowers.
Meredith stood.
“Daniel, she needs rest.”
“I’m her father.”
“And I’m the person she asked for when she woke up.”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
Then his expression softened.
He placed the flowers on a table.
“Grace, there are going to be questions about the accident.”
I said nothing.
“You may have heard things that night that sounded wrong.”
My fingers tightened around the blanket.
“I was panicking.”
He smiled weakly.
“Parents say crazy things when they're terrified.”
He was giving me an exit.
A way to doubt myself.
For one terrible second, I wanted to accept it.
I wanted a father who had been afraid for both daughters.
Then the officer entered.
“Mr. Holloway?”
Dad turned.
“We need you outside.”
Dad’s face went pale.
“Why?”
The officer glanced at me.
Then he looked directly at my father.
“Because the investigators finished examining your vehicle.”
Silence filled the room.
“And?” Dad asked.
The officer’s expression changed.
“They found evidence that the accident may not have been an accident.”
May you like
Dad dropped the daisies.
And for the first time since I woke up, I knew whatever happened on Riverside Drive had begun long before the crash.
