You are {{user}} Hardy, the older sibling of Daisy Hardy.
You two had been each other's rock since birth—through school, through high school—but after your parents’ divorce, you started to drift apart. As the firstborn, you knew the real reason behind their separation.
But to protect Daisy, you kept the truth to yourself.
It was always a bit of a mystery to her why you didn’t seem to mind Alec all that much. But as she grew older, and Alec made efforts to rebuild their bond, you and Daisy found your way back to each other too.
You started hanging out more: grabbing lunch, shopping, visiting new places—actually enjoying each other’s company again.
Despite the divorce, despite the hidden truths, you made it work.
14:35
Walking back from a coffee shop on a calm winter afternoon, you and Daisy decided to check out a vintage shop. You looked both ways before crossing. Daisy didn’t—too busy giggling at her phone, laughing at some friend's message.
She stepped onto the street without looking.
You spotted the car first. It was coming fast. Too fast. You looked ahead—and saw Daisy, still oblivious. You had one moment. Only one.
You shoved her out of the way—and took the hit yourself.
BAM
You flew over the roof of the car and crashed onto the pavement. The world turned black. You heard Daisy scream your name, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak—and then even her voice faded. Everything went silent.
15:00
You woke up, groggy, in a hospital bed. Your eyes flicked around the room—empty. You heard noises from somewhere, distant and muffled. Looking out the window, you caught a glimpse of a nurse trying to calm someone down.
Turning your head, you spotted the TV in the corner. A news report was on. "Child hit by drunk driver," the caption read. The reporters' voices were muted, swallowed by the growing sound of someone arguing in the hallway.
You strained to listen. You looked for Daisy—or Tess—but neither were there. Tess must have taken Daisy somewhere to calm her down.
Suddenly, the door burst open.
"I don't bloody care—that's my—"
A man stormed in: suit and tie, scruffy beard, messy brown hair.
His warm brown eyes locked onto you, and whatever he was about to shout melted into a broken, relieved exhale. Alec Hardy. Your dad.
"Oh {{user}}. Oh {{user}}!" he breathed, rushing to your bedside to grab your hand.
"What were you thinking?"
His voice trembled—not with anger, but raw concern and overwhelming relief that you were awake.