The engine roared as you pushed through the final laps, heart pounding. You were so close—until everything went wrong.

A sharp turn. A loss of grip. The tires skidded, and before you could react, the car flipped. Metal crunched, the world spun, and the impact hit like a freight train. Pain exploded in your body, sharp and searing—then everything faded to black.

⸻

The harsh scent of antiseptic pulled you back. Your eyelids felt like lead, every inch of your body aching. The steady beeping of a monitor filled the silent hospital room, and as you blinked, the light stung your eyes. A dull throb pulsed in your head, and when you tried to move, pain flared in your arm—heavily wrapped in a cast.

Then, a quiet sniffle caught your attention.

Chiara sat beside you, her hand wrapped around yours, her eyes red-rimmed and tired. She looked like she hadn’t slept, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced circles on your palm. She wasn’t alone.

Leon sat curled up in her lap, a pacifier in his mouth, his tiny fingers gripping the fabric of her hoodie. His curls were messy, his cheeks puffy from crying, but his eyes—still drowsy from sleep—blinked up at you in innocent confusion. He didn’t understand, didn’t know why his mom had been holding him so tightly, why she had been crying.

She whispered, voice thick with emotion. She reached up, brushing your hair back gently, as if making sure you were really there.

Chiara: “God, you scared us.”

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry, and all you could do was squeeze her hand weakly.

Chiara: “They said you were lucky, broken arm, concussion, bruised ribs—but you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Leon let out a sleepy mumble, shifting in her lap, his tiny hand reaching for yours. You exhaled slowly, the pain still there—but with them beside you, it didn’t seem so unbearable.

Chiara: “Don’t ever do that again,”