Before she forgot

EPISODE THREE

Emilia's scooter slowed to a stop.

Her hands trembled slightly as she parked it by the side of the road. For a moment, she sat frozen, eyes fixed on the damaged car ahead. The silence was too thick, too wrong.

She drew in a shaky breath and climbed off. The crunch of broken glass beneath her shoes made her flinch with every step, but she kept moving forward, her heart hammering louder the closer she got.

When she reached the driver's side, her hand flew to her mouth.

The man inside was middle-aged, his head resting weakly against the steering wheel. Blood trailed from a cut on his forehead, tracing a dark line down the side of his face. His eyes were half-open — glassy, unfocused, as though he was fighting to hold on.

"Sir..." Emilia's voice came out barely in a whisper. "Can you hear me?"

His fingers twitched faintly against the steering wheel. Just barely — but enough.

She yanked her phone from her pocket, fingers stumbling over the screen. "Hello? Please — there's been an accident." She forced her voice steady as she gave the location, then ended the call and shoved the phone back into her pocket.

She leaned closer to the man. His eyes drifted slowly toward her — hazy, but present.

"Help is coming," she said, putting as much calm into her voice as she could manage. "Just stay awake. Keep your eyes on me."

Her knees felt hollow. She waved her hand gently in front of his face, keeping him from slipping away, counting the seconds.

Then — sirens. Faint at first, then growing, slicing cleanly through the silence. Red and blue light flickered across the shattered glass on the road.

"They're here," Emilia breathed. "Hold on. Just a little longer."

The paramedics moved fast. She stepped back, pressing herself against the side of the road as they worked. As they lifted the man onto a stretcher, something slipped from his pocket and landed quietly on the ground.

A brown leather wallet.

Emilia's eyes caught it immediately. She bent down, picked it up, and hurried after the stretcher.

"Are you family?" one of the paramedics asked, not breaking stride.

"No," Emilia said quickly.

The female paramedic glanced at her — took in the worry written plainly on her face — and nodded. "Let her come."

Emilia climbed into the ambulance, the wallet held tightly in both hands, as the doors swung shut behind her.

At the hospital, the man was rushed straight into the emergency room. Emilia was left alone in the corridor.

She sat against the cold wall, hands clasped in her lap, eyes fixed on the closed doors ahead. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope.

Her mind wouldn't keep still. Why had he been driving alone at that hour? Where was his family? A quiet frustration stirred in her chest — at whoever had let him be out by himself at that time of night.

Then a sharper thought cut through.

Does his family even now he's here?

She blinked and reached into her pocket. Her fingers found the leather wallet. She stared at it in her lap for a moment, guilt pricking at the edges of her conscience. It's not right, going through someone else's things.

But she exhaled softly. If it helps me reach his family, it's worth it.

She opened the wallet carefully. Tucked inside was a resident identity card — full name, address — but no phone number. No emergency contact.

Emilia pressed the card against her chest and leaned back. This won't be enough.

She sat for what felt like a long time before a nurse finally stepped through the emergency room doors. The man was stable, she said. He needed rest.

Emilia let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

She was permitted to see him shortly after. She pushed the door open gently and stepped inside.

He lay still beneath a thin white sheet, a bandage wrapped carefully around his forehead. An IV line ran from his arm to a drip stand beside the bed. The monitor beside him beeped in a slow, steady rhythm. Even in sleep, there was a quiet tension in his face — his breathing uneven, heavy with effort.

Emilia sat in the chair beside him and watched him for a long moment. She found herself wondering about him — who he was beyond these white walls. Whether someone was waiting for him at home.

You'll be fine, she thought. And then, because the room was quiet enough for it, she whispered it aloud.

She checked the time. Past one in the morning.

She needed to sleep. She needed to be at work in a few hours. She stayed a little longer anyway — until the guilt of leaving was smaller than the weight of exhaustion — then quietly gathered her things and slipped out.

Outside, the sky had broken open.

Rain came down in heavy sheets, turning the streets slick and dark. Emilia ducked under the narrow awning of a nearby coffee shop, shivering, scanning the road for a taxi.

Minutes passed. No taxi came. The cold crept in slowly — into her shoulders, her arms, her fingers. She rubbed her palms together and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

Then something warm settled over her shoulders.

She turned, startled.

A young man stood behind her, tall and composed, dressed sharply in a black suit. He had draped his coat around her without ceremony, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His dark eyes met hers — calm, unreadable.

"Mind if I give you a ride?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

Emilia hesitated. She looked at the empty road, then back at him.

She nodded.

He had been inside the coffee shop the entire time — sitting quietly, watching since the moment she'd stepped in from the rain. He hadn't planned to say anything. But something about the way she stood there, shivering and waiting with that look of quiet patience on her face, had made him push back his chair and walk outside.