Chapter 5 | The Night Everything Changed
934 Words
Titania’s POV
In the haze of memory, I find myself back in that moment—a whisper in time, etched into my heart like brushstrokes on canvas. The restaurant’s warmth still clung to us as we stepped into the night, laughter trailing behind like confetti on the wind. Mom’s smile, soft and radiant, pulled me in close. Dad’s presence—steady, grounding—completed the picture. We drifted toward the car, our family orbiting each other like planets in a safe little universe.
Inside, the car felt like a cocoon. The engine hummed, and the radio came alive with a familiar tune. I couldn’t help myself. “Turn it up, Dad,” I said, eyes sparkling. His laugh, so full and warm, wrapped around me.
“You are the Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen…” The lyrics flowed like a ribbon through the air, twining around us in joy and nostalgia. I sang with my mom, our voices rising together, unfiltered and free. Even Dad joined in—off-key, but it didn’t matter. It was perfect. It was ours.
And then—everything fractured.
A truck. Headlights slicing through the dark like a warning too late.
Impact.
Glass became stars. The world flipped. Time folded in on itself.
Screams tore through the night—ours. Metal groaned and twisted like it was crying with us. The car spun in a grotesque dance, the music gone, replaced by chaos. I held on, barely, my grip on consciousness slipping.
Then—stillness.
I opened my eyes to silence.
Pain greeted me like an old friend, radiating from every limb. My ears rang. My breath caught. I turned—Dad was still. Too still. That’s when the truth crashed down harder than the truck ever could.
He was gone.
Mom—bloody, bruised—was still there. Still fighting. Her hand reached for mine. Her voice, fragile and loving, called me back to her.
“Ma, you’re awake,” I whispered, clutching that thread of hope.
“Yes, sweetie,” she breathed, each word wrapped in pain. A shard of glass had pierced her side, gleaming like betrayal in the moonlight. My heart split again.
“I need you to get out of the car,” she said. “Go as far as possible. Call for help.”
“No, Mom, I can’t—” The words tore from me. I couldn’t leave her. I wouldn’t.
Her eyes met mine. Calm. Fierce. “I’m okay. Go. Get help.”
But then—another fracture. Her voice lowered, trembling. “Honey… there’s something you should know before you go.” Her gaze shifted down—to the floorboard. Something hidden. A box. A secret.
I didn’t ask. I didn’t have to. But the weight of her words would haunt me forever.
“I love you, my little angel.”
The world tilted again—this time with fire. I smelled smoke. Saw it curl in the corners of my vision.
“Get out now!” she cried.
The door gave way with a groan, and I stumbled out, glass biting into my skin. I ran. I didn’t look back—not until the explosion lit up the night behind me. The flames swallowed everything we were, everything we had been.
My fingers shook as I called 911.
“Hello, what is your emergency?”
“I—I don’t know—I—there’s been an accident. Please…”
“Okay, I need you to calm down. Tell me where you are.”
I choked out the words, trying to be brave, trying to be anything but the shattered girl on the side of the road. The flames roared louder. But her voice, steady and calm, pulled me through.
“Help is on the way.”
Sirens cut through the night like a promise. Red and blue lights danced against the trees as first responders arrived. The paramedics’ hands were gentle. The officers—Tony and Frank—kind. They spoke in soft tones, treating me like glass.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” they said.
I nodded, the words too heavy to carry.
They asked questions. I answered—haltingly at first, then with more clarity. “We were coming back from dinner. We were laughing. My dad was driving…”
I told them everything. About the truck. About the crash. About the fire.
“Do you have someone you can stay with?”
“Yes,” I lied. “My aunt.”
The truth? I had no idea what came next. But anything—anything—was better than the unknown of foster care.
“We’ll take you there,” they said, and I followed.
Outside the house that wasn’t really mine, I hesitated. A tear slipped free. It traced my cheek like a promise.
Behind that door, a new chapter waited.
That night, I curled into bed in clothes that weren’t mine. I stared at the ceiling until it blurred. In the mirror, I saw a girl I didn’t recognize—eyes swollen, spirit bruised. I washed the blood from my skin, but not from my memory.
Wrapped in pajamas and pain, I slipped beneath the covers.
Sleep came slowly, reluctantly. But when it did, it carried me back—to the car, the music, the laughter. To the love that had once wrapped around me like a song.
And somewhere in the darkness, I whispered to the stars:
I’m still here.
And I would find out why it all happened. Even if it meant unearthing every secret my family ever buried.
- Writer
