Chapter two.
1375 Words
Her first breath felt like it didn’t belong to her.
It burned on the way in.
Clara’s eyes fluttered open to a ceiling she didn’t recognize cracked white paint and a slow-turning fan that clicked with every rotation.
The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and something older, like damp wood.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
Then the pain arrived.
It spread from her ribs outward, sharp and merciless, wrapping around her sides like a vice. She tried to inhale again, and a broken sound escaped her throat. Her muscles screamed as if she had been crushed.
Where am I?
Her fingers twitched against rough bedsheets. Not silk. Not the high-thread-count sheets from the house she shared with her husband. These were thin. Washed too many times.
Her throat was dry. Her lips tasted like metal.
Memory came in fragments.
Headlights.
Water.
The brake pedal sinking all the way down.
Her heart stuttered.
Water rising.
Cold swallowing her whole.
She gasped and immediately regretted it, clutching her side as agony flared through her ribs. Something was strapped around her torso, bandages.
She wasn’t in her bedroom.
She wasn’t in a hospital room either. No machines. No steady beeping. Just the lazy hum of the fan and distant footsteps somewhere beyond a closed door.
Her heart began to pound.
If she wasn’t home…
If she wasn’t in a hospital…
Then where was she?
And why did it feel like she had clawed her way back from somewhere she was never supposed to return from?
She groaned, trying her best to sit up from her lying position.
But her body refused to cooperate.
She sighed and fell back against the pillow.
The pain was too intense; even the smallest movement made her squirm.
She turned her face from side to side, taking in her surroundings. After hitting the truck and falling into the water, she remembered nothing else.
But she remembered clearly how the brakes had gone from working to suddenly failing.
It had happened so fast.
One moment, she was driving to dinner, their first dinner together after a long argument.
He had insisted on apologizing. Said he wanted to make things right.
She remembered how he had refused to ride in her car and suggested they take separate cars “for convenience.”
Looking back at it now, it felt suspicious.
Could it be his fault she was in this position?
She tried remembering that night again.
Caius, who was usually irritated by her presence, had changed that evening.
He had been calm. Sweet. He had even held her hands, telling her how sorry he was for everything he had done and how he would make it up to her during dinner.
He had been unaffectionate for years.
What changed?
That was when a chilling thought crossed her mind.
Something had changed.
He had already decided she wouldn’t live long enough to remember the apology.
Her breathing grew uneven.
And then she remembered something else.
Her best friend had called her that day.
The conversation had felt strange ,almost like a goodbye.
Clara swallowed hard.
No.
She was thinking too much.
But the brakes…
She was sure of it.
He had tampered with the brakes.
The realization made her head throb even more.
Suddenly, there was a knock, and the door creaked open.
A girl, probably in her late teens, stepped inside. She had a youthful face and a hesitant smile.
“You’re awake. Finally,” the girl said when she saw Clara’s eyes open.
“Where am I?” Clara asked in a groggy voice.
“You’re in our home. On my bed,” the girl replied as she approached the bedside.
Clara blinked.
Was she supposed to apologize for occupying her bed?
“My father is the one who saved you,” the girl continued.
“Thank you,” Clara managed to croak out.
“No, don’t thank me. You should thank my dad. We thought you were dead judging by how you looked when he found you. He’s a fisherman.”
Clara’s chest tightened.
“You’ve been asleep for a few days now. Your family is probably still searching for you. Do you remember who you are?”
“Yes,” Clara said slowly. “Hurting my head doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten who I am.”
She hesitated.
Can I contact my family?”
“I’ll inform my dad that you’re awake,” the girl said, stepping back.
Clara nodded, even though her head felt heavy and the movement made her dizzy.
Before the girl could leave, a man entered the room. He looked to be in his mid-forties, broad-shouldered, with weathered skin and tired eyes.
So this must be her father, Clara thought.
The man studied her carefully, relief washing over his features.
“You’re awake,” he said quietly.
Clara swallowed. “Are you the one who found me?”
He nodded. “I pulled you out of the river. You were caught in some reeds near the bank. Another few minutes…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
Clara felt a chill run through her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The man gave a small nod, then his expression shifted. It wasn’t relief anymore.
It was something heavier.
“You asked about contacting your family,” he said slowly.
“Yes.” Her voice came out steadier this time. “They must be worried.”
The man and the girl exchanged a glance.
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“What?” she asked.
He exhaled before speaking. “They stopped searching.”
The words didn’t register immediately.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her fingers gripping the sheets.
“They found your car,” he continued. “It went straight through the guardrail. Your handbag was inside. Your phone too.”
Her heart began to pound again.
“They searched the river for days,” he said. “But they didn’t find your body.”
Clara swallowed hard. “So they’re still searching?”
He hesitated.
“No,” he said gently. “They announced you dead.”
The room felt smaller.
“They held your funeral two days ago.”
The words struck her harder than the crash.
Her funeral.
She stared at him, waiting for him to say he was joking. That there had been a mistake.
“They declared you presumed dead,” he added. “Closed coffin.”
Clara’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
“That’s what I don’t understand,” the man continued, frowning. “It felt too fast. Usually, when there’s no body, families wait longer. Weeks. Sometimes months.”
Clara’s breathing became shallow.
“They said the river has a history,” he went on. “That many people who fall in are never found. Some bodies wash ashore. Some never do.”
Her hands trembled.
“But what struck me as strange,” he said carefully, “was how certain your husband sounded.”
Clara’s eyes snapped to his.
“He gave a statement,” the man continued. “Said he knew you were gone. Said the current would have dragged you too far to survive.”
Each word felt like ice sliding down her spine.
“He also mentioned…” The man paused, uncomfortable. “He mentioned your weight. Said it would have made it harder for you to stay afloat.”
The room went silent.
Clara felt something inside her crack.
Not from the insult.
But from the certainty in that statement.
How would he know she hadn’t survived?
How would he know she hadn’t fought?
Unless he already believed there was no way she could escape.
The brake pedal.
The way it had sunk.
The way he had insisted she drive alone.
The sudden apology.
The separate cars.
Her best friend’s strange goodbye call.
Her heart began to race, but her face went still.
“They were very sure,” the man said quietly. “Too sure, in my opinion.”
Clara’s gaze drifted to the ceiling again.
Her funeral.
Her husband grieving in front of cameras.
Her best friend probably standing beside him.
They had buried her without a body.
Without hesitation.
Without doubt.
And suddenly, the river didn’t feel like an accident anymore.
- Writer
