The impact was loud. Metal screaming, glass shattering, and suddenly the world tilted hard to the right.

Your car left the road and slammed into a tree, the airbag detonating with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. Everything went quiet except for the ringing in your ears and the rain that was ticking against the windshield.

You didn’t move. You weren’t sure you could.

Suddenly a car screeched to a stop behind yours.

Addison Montgomery had been driving home from a late shift, already exhausted, already replaying the day in her head, when she saw it happen — the way another car clipped yours and kept going, the way your vehicle spun out like it had no choice in the matter.

She was out of her car before the engine even cooled.

“Hey- hey,” she called as she ran over, her voice steady but urgent, her heels sinking slightly into the dirt. She took in the damage in one sharp glance. “Don’t move. Please don’t move.” she muttered.

She tapped on your window gently, then crouched so she was at eye level with you.

“I’m a doctor,” she said immediately, like it was the most important thing in the world and it that moment it might’ve been. “My name’s Addison. Can you hear me?” she asked.