After the car accident, I remained trapped inside the wreckage while my father shouted at the paramedics to rescue my sister first. Then he pointed at me and said, “The other one never meant much anyway. Don’t waste your time on her.”
I was conscious the whole time. I heard every single word.
I was pinned in the passenger seat of my father’s black Lincoln. My left leg was crushed under the twisted door as firefighters worked to cut me free. Smoke filled the air while red and blue lights flashed across Riverside Drive, turning the night into a chaotic blur of sirens and color.
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A few feet away, my younger sister Olivia sat wrapped in a shiny emergency blanket, crying for Dad. She had a cut on her forehead and a broken wrist. She could move. I could hear her sobs.