Olivia's POV
I lay in my childhood bed that night, staring up at the ceiling with its glow-in-the-dark stars, and my mind wouldn't stop replaying everything my parents had told me.
*****
"After you were hit by that car," my father continued, "Maxwell was the one who rushed to help you. He and the driver got you into the car immediately and drove straight to the hospital. He didn't waste a single second."
I blinked, surprised. That wasn't what I'd expected to hear. I'd expected to hear he'd run away.
"The doctors started working on you right away," my mother continued softly. "And Maxwell - he didn't even know our phone number or how to come here on his own. But surprisingly he remembered the way to our house. So he ran all the way there to tell us what had happened."
"He ran?" I repeated.
"He was just a twelve-year-old boy," my father said. "Terrified and crying, barely able to get the words out. But he made sure we knew where you were."
