It started with screeching tires.
Emerie's phone rang just as she stepped out of a meeting with a pro bono construction firm—her first real client since the collapse.
“Hello?"
“Emerie, it's your mom." The voice on the other end was breathless. “There's been an accident."
“What happened?"
“Your mother's been hit. Parking lot. Delivery truck didn't stop in time."
She froze. “Where is she now?"
“General Hospital. They think her leg's fractured. Maybe worse."
Emerie didn't remember the drive there. She only remembered her mother's voice—calm, deliberate, whispering through pain.
“It didn't feel like an accident."
---
**That night.**
Emerie sat in a dim hospital room, watching her mother sleep under a morphine drip. A nurse came in quietly to check vitals. Emerie leaned over.
“Was
