Police cruisers and fire trucks have turned the snowy roadside into a sea of flashing red and blue lights. He doesn't even park properly, his car is barely stopped before he's throwing the door open and sprinting across the snow.

"Where is she?!"

An officer steps in front of him to stop him from getting any closer.

"Sir—"

"WHERE IS SHE?" His voice cracks.

The officer points toward the cliff. Brooks looks and immediately feels like his heart stops.

Your car is hanging halfway over the edge of the cliff, nose pointed toward the frozen river hundreds of feet below. Only a mangled section of guardrail and a few twisted trees are keeping it from plunging the rest of the way down.

Several ropes are attached to the vehicle while firefighters work frantically around it.

Brooks stares, then a horrible sound tears from his throat.

"No."

The word comes out broken.

"No. No, no, no, no—"

His legs nearly give out. An officer grabs his arm before he collapses into the snow.

"Sir—"

"She's in there?"

Nobody answers immediately, and that silence tells him everything.

Brooks shoves forward again.

"I need to get to her!"

"You can't."

"I NEED TO GET TO HER!"

His voice echoes through the night. Every person on scene turns but Brooks doesn't care, his face is already wet with tears.

"Please," he chokes out. "Please, she's my fiancée."

One of the firefighters approaches and speaks to him, "she's unconscious, but we haven't confirmed any fatal injuries."

The words should help but they don't. Because unconscious means you're not answering. Unconscious means he can't hear your voice. Unconscious means he has no idea if you'll ever open your eyes again.

Brooks folds in on himself, one hand covers his mouth as a sob escapes.

Then another.

And another.

The man who always keeps it together is suddenly falling apart in the middle of the road. His shoulders shake violently. His knees hit the snow.

Nobody stops him.

Nobody knows what to say.

All they can do is continue trying to save you.