The street was dimly lit, the sound of crickets echoing faintly in the distance. The once cheerful hum of Peter's music had been replaced by the hiss of a broken engine and the faint crackle of a damaged radio. His mother's silver car was now crumpled against a roadside barrier, the headlights flickering weakly like fading stars.
A passerby, startled by the loud crash, ran toward the wreck, shouting for help. Within minutes, people gathered. Someone called an ambulance; another dialed the police. The night that had seemed peaceful moments ago had turned into a blur of chaos and sirens.
Peter was barely conscious, his face pale, a stream of blood running down his forehead. His hand, still faintly trembling, clutched the pendant Olivia had given him weeks earlier. The sirens grew louder as paramedics rushed in, forcing open the car door and pulling him out carefully.
"Pulse weak, but stable!" one of them shouted.
"Let's move, people!"
They lifted him onto a stretcher and sped off toward the nearest hospital.
At the Owens' residence, Olivia was helping her mother clear the table when her phone rang. It was Peter's mother.
"Good evening, Mrs. Susan," Olivia greeted cheerfully at first, but the trembling tone from the other end froze her smile.
"Olivia…" Peter's mother's voice cracked, barely holding back tears. "Peter's been in an accident. They rushed him to St. Helena's Hospital."
Olivia dropped her phone. The sound startled her parents.
"Olivia, what is it?" John asked, his voice sharp.
"It's Peter," she gasped, tears already spilling down her face. "He—he had an accident!"
Without hesitation, John grabbed his car keys while Amelia held Olivia close. "Get your things," he said firmly. "We're going now."
At the hospital, the air was thick with tension and the smell of disinfectant. Peter's mother was already there, pacing the corridor, her cries echoing softly as nurses tried to calm her down.
"Please, Madam, you can't go in yet," a nurse pleaded. "The doctors are still working."
"I'm his mother!" she cried, struggling to break free. "Let me see my son!"
When the Owens family arrived, Olivia ran straight to her and hugged her tightly. "Mrs. Susan, I'm so sorry," she sobbed.
Peter's mother clung to her. "He was just fine—he was happy! How did this happen?"
Amelia stepped forward, her expression calm but firm. "Please, let me in," she told the nurse. "I'm a doctor."
After a short discussion, the nurse nodded and opened the emergency room door for her.
Inside, the room was filled with movement—nurses adjusting IV lines, doctors giving quick orders, and monitors beeping steadily. Amelia quickly put on gloves and joined in, doing everything she could to help stabilize Peter.
Hours passed. The tension outside grew unbearable. Olivia sat between her parents, crying silently. John rubbed her shoulder gently, though his own eyes were heavy with worry.
Finally, the door opened. Amelia stepped out, exhausted, her face pale.
Peter's mother rushed forward. "How is he? Please, tell me he's okay!"
Amelia sighed deeply. "He's alive," she said softly. "But… he's in a coma."
The hallway went silent.
Peter's mother broke down completely, screaming her son's name as nurses tried to hold her. Olivia covered her mouth, shaking, tears streaming endlessly. John hugged her tightly, whispering, "He'll make it, sweetheart. He'll pull through."
But in that moment, all Olivia could feel was guilt—crushing, heavy guilt.
If only she hadn't kissed him. If only she had stopped him from driving that night.
The night grew long, and in the silence that followed, only the quiet hum of the hospital lights kept watch over their pain.