The drive to the hospital stretched like forever. Every red light stabbed my nerves, every siren in the distance felt like it mocked me for not calling an ambulance.
Daniel shifted in his seat, his hand still pressed to his head.
"You drive like you're running from the police."
"I'm trying to get you help," I shot back, knuckles white against the steering wheel. "Sorry if I'm not exactly calm right now."
He exhaled through his nose, wincing. "Guess I should be grateful you didn't leave me on the road."
My chest tightened.
"I would never—don't say that. This was my fault. I should've been more careful."
He didn't say a word again, and the silence between us grew heavy. My phone rang again, screen flashing with Tyla's name. I ignored it, jaw clenched.
At the hospital entrance, I screeched to a stop. Nurses rushed out with a wheelchair after spotting the blood streaks on Daniel's face. I hopped out, fumbling to help them ease him down.
"Head trauma," one nurse muttered, already checking his vitals. "We'll take him to treatment. You wait outside."
I hovered, unsure, my hands sticky with his blood. "Can I—"
"No," the nurse cut me off. "Sit down, ma'am. We'll update you."
The automatic doors slid shut, cutting me out of the moment, leaving me stranded in the sterile-smelling waiting area.
My legs gave out onto a plastic chair. For the first time since the accident, I let my face fall into my hands.
This day was supposed to be about managing clients, keeping control, being the strong businesswoman. Now? My world was blood, bruises, and guilt.
My phone buzzed again. Tyla. Reluctantly, I picked up.
"Mary, what's going on?" Her voice was sharp with worry. I've been calling nonstop."
"I can't talk right now Tyla." My voice cracked. "I hit a man. With my car."
The line went quiet. Then, softly, "Are you okay?" She asked
"I'm fine." The word felt like a lie. "But he's not. I'm at the hospital."
"Mary…" Tyla's tone was all softness now. "Stay calm. Accidents happen. Just—stay with him."
"I don't even know him Tyla and I really feel terrible."
And she said to me...
"Doesn't matter. You care, that's enough."
I swallowed hard. "I'll call you later."
When I hung up, the silence of the waiting room was almost unbearable. A child whined somewhere. The clock ticked mercilessly. My knees bounced with nervous energy, and I couldn't stop replaying the accident in my head—the sound, the sight, the fear.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably thirty minutes, a doctor approached.
"Family?" he asked, scanning the room.
"Not… exactly." I stood, wringing my hands. "I'm the one who brought him in. How is he?"
"Minor concussion, head laceration. We stitched him up, and he'll need rest, but he'll be fine. Very lucky he was wearing protective gear."
My lungs finally remembered how to breathe. "Thank God."
"You can see him," the doctor added, gesturing toward the hallway.
I followed him to a small recovery room where Daniel sat propped on the bed, a bandage wrapped around his head. His helmet sat cracked on the table, looking like proof of a near-death.
His eyes flicked to me. "So you didn't run away?."
I managed a weak laugh. "Tempting as it was ,but I'm still here."
He cracked a smile, then winced. "Don't make me laugh. Hurts too much."
I stepped closer, folding my arms over my chest to hide how much I was shaking. "I'm so sorry, Daniel. Really. I've never been this careless before."
"You drive like you've got three lives," he muttered. "Next time, maybe look at the road instead of whatever's in your head."
I nodded, shame burning through me. "You're right. I was distracted with work, stupid things that shouldn't have mattered more than someone's safety."
He studied me for a long moment, then sighed. "Well, at least you brought me here. Could've been worse."
The relief of those words nearly knocked me to the ground.
I sat in the chair beside his bed and asked him.
"Do you… need me to call someone maybe a family or friend?"
"Already texted my brother," he said, pointing to his cracked phone. "But he's out of town. So I guess I'm stuck with you."
"Guess so," I said softly.
For the next hour, I stayed while nurses checked on him, cleaning up his wound and replacing the bandage. My phone buzzed with salon updates and my mom, but I ignored them all. Work could wait.
When the clock struck 6pm, exhaustion draped over me like a heavy coat. Today was not for me. First, a fight with Mom, a client emergency and then Clara drama. Now, nearly killing someone.
Daniel shifted, glancing at me. "You look like hell."
"Thanks," I muttered not sure of what to say.
"I mean. You look more shaken than me."
I leaned back in the chair, eyes closing. "Because I feel like the worst human alive." I said to him.
He was quiet for a beat. Then: "You're not. Just… a distracted one."
His words surprised me—gentler than before.
~He was finally discharged, and a nurse rolled him toward the exit in a wheelchair. I walked beside them, matching their pace, the smell of disinfectant following us through the hallway. His head was still bandaged, and the evening light coming through the glass doors made the white gauze look almost silver.
When we reached the automatic doors, the nurse pressed the button for the chair to lock, then helped him stand. He winced a little but straightened himself with that stubborn pride he carried like a badge.
"I'm good," he muttered.
"You sure?" I asked, hovering close in case he leaned or slipped.
He gave one short nod. The nurse smiled politely and wished him a good recovery before heading back inside.
The cool California breeze hit us immediately — warm day, cold evening, typical. He rubbed his arms once and then looked at me.
"Where's my bike?"
I already knew this moment would come. My phone buzzed earlier with a message from the mechanic: Everything fixed. Ready tomorrow.
So I swallowed and told him.
"It's at the mechanic's place. He said he'll bring it tomorrow morning."
Daniel frowned. "No, no. Let's go get it now. I'll drive myself home."
I almost laughed, but my chest was too tight for that.
"You're not driving anywhere."
He gave me a pleading look.
"No." I stepped in front of him. "I'm sorry, but your head is wrapped like a gift basket and you want to ride a motorcycle? I'm taking you home. If your brother wants to pick you up, let him. But you're not riding anything."
He stared at me. One of those God, why is this girl like this? looks. Then he sighed hard and burst out laughing— the defeated kind.
"Fine," he muttered. "You win."
"I don't know what's funny but thank you."
I moved to his side and helped him walk the short distance to where my car was parked. He leaned on me only slightly, but I felt the weight of his exhaustion in every step. When we reached my car, I opened the passenger door and he lowered himself slowly into the seat.
For a few seconds, I just stood there with my hand on the door, inhaling, exhaling, letting my nerves settle. Then I walked around and got into the driver's seat.
He glanced at me. "Really… thank you."
"No," I shook my head, starting the car. "I should be the one thanking you. And apologizing. I ruined your whole day and put you in this condition."
He gave a small tired smile. "You helped me more than you think."
I looked away because my chest felt strange.
After a couple minutes of driving, I asked, "Are you hungry?"
He hesitated. "I'm starving."
"Sorry I didn't asked earlier," I said, turning the wheel. "We're stopping somewhere."
I pulled into one of my favorite little street-side restaurants — the kind with warm lights, outdoor heaters, and that casual California vibe. The neon sign flickered "Maddie G's." It wasn't fancy, but the food was good and comforting.
I came around and helped him out of the car. We walked inside slowly, the smell of roasted peppers and grilled meat hitting us immediately. A waiter rushed over when he noticed the bandage on Daniel's head.
"Table for two? This way," he said gently.
We sat. Daniel sank into his chair like he'd been traveling for days.
I told the waiter, "I'll have fried cheese bites and a vanilla milkshake."
Daniel looked at the menu once, then closed it. "Uh… can I get the barbecue pork plate? The full one? With fries."
"Good choice," the waiter nodded.
When he left, Daniel looked at me. "So… you own a salon, right?"
I smiled. "Yeah. Small one, but busy. Today was supposed to be a good workday, actually."
He raised an eyebrow. "Until you ran into me."
"Oh please," I rolled my eyes. "You came out alive. That counts."
He chuckled softly. "Barely."
The food came, and we ate while talking — about work, about the ridiculous events of the day, about how he hated hospitals. His appetite surprised me; he finished the whole pork plate like a man who hadn't eaten in days.
When the waiter brought the check, I reached for it immediately.
Daniel grabbed my wrist lightly. "No. I'm paying."
"Daniel, I caused this entire—"
"If you don't let me pay," he said firmly, "I won't be happy."
I stared at him, then let go. "Fine. Go ahead."
He paid, looking oddly proud of himself.
Outside, I helped him back to the car. He gave me his address, and I followed the GPS until we reached a quiet apartment complex. But the gate was locked.
He sighed. "My brother was supposed to be here. He probably went out."
"So how do we get in?"
He pointed to the small padlock securing the side entrance. "My spare key is in my bike… so… you'll have to break it."
I blinked. "Break it?"
He smirked. "Yeah. I'll tell you how."
I did exactly what he instructed — hit the padlock at the hinge, not the center, with the small tire iron from my trunk. It snapped surprisingly fast.
Some neighbors peeked out, alarmed — until they saw him.
"Oh! Daniel!" one of them shouted. "You okay?"
He waved. "Yeah, yeah, just a long day."
Inside the apartment, he switched on the light and collapsed onto the couch, letting out the deepest exhale I'd heard from him all day.
I stood awkwardly near the door until he patted the couch beside him.
"You can sit, you know."
So I did.
A moment later, his phone rang — the cracked screen barely lighting up.
He answered.
"Yeah, man… I'm home. My phone died earlier. I'm fine. I'll explain when you get here."
His tone was gentle, reassuring.
Meanwhile, my phone kept vibrating: Mom. Again. Again.
Daniel noticed. "You should call her. She's probably panicking."
He was right.
I called. "Mom, I'm okay. I'll be home soon. I'll explain later."
Not long after, the door opened. His brother rushed in, eyes wide when he saw the bandages.
"What happened? Bro, what happened?!"
Daniel sighed. "Relax. I'm fine. Just an accident."
Then his brother noticed me. "And you are…?"
Before I could answer, Daniel said,
"She helped me. All day. She's the reason I'm even standing here."
His brother's expression softened immediately.
And I just sat there, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was… but also oddly calm.
Daniel's brother was still standing by the doorway, trying to process everything, when Daniel shifted on the couch with a soft groan. He looked at me—really looked at me—and something in his expression changed.
"Hey," he murmured. "You look exhausted."
I opened my mouth to deny it, but my body betrayed me. My shoulders felt like they were made of stone, my eyes stung, and my legs kept trembling from the long day.
Before I could even respond, Daniel turned to his brother.
"Please drive her home," he said quietly. "She's done enough today."
Immediately, I shook my head.
"No. No, no, no, no, I'm okay. I can drive myself. I'm fine."
Daniel narrowed his eyes at me like he was fighting a headache and my stubbornness at the same time.
"You're not fine," he said. "You're literally swaying."
"I'm not swaying," I lied—while swaying.
His brother stepped forward. "I can take you home. It's no trouble."
"I said I'm fine," I insisted again, palms raised like I was fighting off a kidnapping attempt.
Daniel sighed, long and dramatic.
"Alright. If you don't let my brother drive you, then you're sleeping over."
My eyes widened. "What? No! No, no, I'm not—I can't—Daniel, no."
"Well then," he said, leaning back into the couch with a wince, "let him drive you. Those are your two choices."
The way he said it… calm, firm, and a little playful… it startled me. And for a moment, just a tiny moment, I became aware of how incredibly tired I was. My arms felt heavy. My head felt fuller than a balloon. And truthfully, the idea of driving myself home like that scared me too.
I exhaled slowly. "Fine," I whispered. "Your brother can drive me."
Daniel nodded once, satisfied.
His brother helped him up, murmuring, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
He supported Daniel down the hallway toward the bedroom, promising he'd be right back to wash him up properly.
When the door clicked shut behind them, I finally stepped outside.
The night air wrapped around me like a cold blanket. I walked to my car and slid into the passenger seat, too drained to even sit properly. My body half-melted into the leather as I closed my eyes briefly.
A minute later, Daniel's brother appeared. He didn't say a word at first—he simply opened the driver's door, gently took my keys from where they were dangling in my hand, and started the engine.
We began driving.
After a moment, he glanced at me. "So… what really happened?"
I inhaled. "First… I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "No need. Just tell me."
So I explained everything—the accident, the panic, the hospital, the long painfully emotional day. I spoke quietly, embarrassed, tired, but honest.
When I was done, he nodded slowly.
"It's alright," he said kindly. "He's safe. That's what matters."
Something about him seemed… off. Not in a scary way, just unusual.
His face looked young, maybe early thirties. But his hands—gripping the steering wheel—looked older, rougher, like they belonged to someone who had lived twice as long. I tried not to stare, telling myself he probably worked a rough job.
Eventually he asked, "Which way?"
I directed him through the streets until we turned onto my apartment block. He parked gently in front of my building and handed me my keys.
"How will you get home?" I asked softly.
He shrugged. "I have guys. A lot of bikes. I'll call one of them to pick me."
I nodded, relieved, grateful. "Alright then. Thank you."
As I stepped out, Clara came out from the door, squinting at the unfamiliar man in the driver's seat.
"Oh—hi," she said awkwardly.
He gave a small wave.
I turned back to him. "Do you want to come in for a minute?"
He shook his head immediately. "No, no. My guys are already close."
As if on cue, two motorcycles rolled in quietly and stopped behind my car. He stepped out, greeted them with a nod, and mounted one.
I waved goodbye as they drove off into the night.
Inside, the house was dim. Everyone was asleep except—
Mom.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, half awake. When I stepped into her room, she lifted her head slowly.
"You're home," she whispered. "I was worried."
I leaned down, kissed her forehead. "I'm fine, Mom. I promise."
"Why didn't you pick up your phone?"
"I'll explain tomorrow," I said softly. "I… I need a long bath."
She nodded, tired, and lay back down. "Goodnight, baby."
"Goodnight, Mom."
I walked to my room, shutting the door behind me. The silence felt heavy but comforting. I dropped onto the bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
My phone buzzed nonstop on the nightstand—missed calls, messages, notifications lighting up like fireworks.
I turned it face-down.
"Tomorrow," I whispered. "Not tonight."
I peeled off my clothes, every movement slow and unsteady, and turned on the shower. The warm water steamed the air, filling the bathroom with a humid cloud that wrapped around my skin.
I stepped under the flow and let it wash everything off—the fear, the noise, the exhaustion. For long minutes, I just stood there, head bowed, letting the water run down my face like it was rinsing the day off me.
When I finally came out, I slipped into fresh clothes, brushed my teeth, and poured myself a glass of orange-lemon juice. The sweet-tart taste grounded me somehow.
Then I climbed into bed, pulled the sheets up to my chin, and let my body sink into the mattress.
For the first time all day…
I let go.
And sleep finally took me.