Shattered Roads
The phone rang at 2:17 a.m., a shrill cry in the silence of Teddy’s dimly lit apartment. He had fallen asleep on the couch, an empty beer bottle teetering on the edge of the coffee table, a half-finished game on the television screen. The number was unknown, but something in his gut twisted as he stared at it.
He hesitated before answering.
“Hello?” His voice was thick with sleep.
“Is this Theodore Carter?” A woman’s voice, calm but tinged with something… off.
“Yes, who is this?”
There was a pause, a hesitation that made the air in the room feel heavier. Then came the words that shattered his world.
“There’s been an accident.”
Teddy sat up so fast that the bottle clattered to the floor.
“An accident? What do you mean?”
The woman, who introduced herself as Officer Lane, continued in that careful, measured tone, the kind people used when they knew what they were about to say would break someone.
“Your girlfriend, Anna Wells, was involved in a fatal car crash tonight.”
The words felt unreal, like a foreign language he couldn’t quite translate.
“No,” he whispered. “No, that— that’s not possible. I just talked to her.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Carter.”
Teddy’s breath came in shallow gasps. The world tilted, his mind scrambling for explanations, for something that made sense. He gripped the phone tighter.
“What happened?” he demanded, his voice breaking.
Officer Lane hesitated again. “There was a collision on Highway 14. A truck ran a red light. She… she didn’t make it.”
The finality of it hit him like a sledgehammer.
Didn’t make it.
His hands shook. His heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear the officer’s next words. Something about the hospital. Identification. Arrangements.
“No,” he muttered again, as if saying it would rewrite reality.
But reality was merciless.
Anna was gone.
—
The Night Before
Just hours earlier, they had been arguing. Nothing serious, just one of those pointless disagreements that came from knowing each other too well.
“You always do this, Teddy,” Anna had sighed, arms crossed, her dark eyes flashing with frustration. “You shut down instead of talking to me.”
“I’m not shutting down,” he had muttered, looking away.
“Then look at me,” she had insisted. “Talk to me.”
But he hadn’t. Instead, he had kissed her forehead and said, “I’ll call you later.”
She had left in a rush, shaking her head. He had let her go, assuming they’d make up in the morning.
Now there was no morning.
No making up.
Just an empty space where she used to be.
—
The Hospital
Teddy wasn’t sure how he got there. The world blurred around him—lights, voices, cold air against his face. He only knew that he was sitting in a waiting room that smelled like antiseptic and sorrow.
A nurse led him to the morgue. He didn’t want to see her. Didn’t want to believe it. But he had to.
The sheet was pulled back.
Anna’s face was pale, too still, too silent.
Teddy reached out, his fingers brushing her cold skin.
“Anna,” he choked out, waiting for her to stir, to blink, to smile.
She didn’t.
A sob wrenched from his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, gripping her lifeless hand. “I should have—”
But there was no should-have. No second chances.
Just silence.
—
The Aftermath
Grief was a cruel companion. It followed Teddy everywhere, pressing against his ribs, choking him in the quiet moments.
He replayed their last conversation over and over, torturing himself with the things he should have said.
Friends reached out. Family called. But nothing they said mattered. Nothing could bring her back.
The police told him the truck driver had been drunk. A repeat offender. Someone who should never have been on the road.
The anger burned in Teddy’s chest, a fire he had nowhere to direct.
Anna was gone, and the world kept spinning, indifferent to his pain.
—
The Road to Closure
Days passed in a haze. Then weeks. Teddy went through the motions, but he wasn’t really there.
Until one night, he found himself driving. The road stretched before him, endless and dark. Without thinking, he pulled onto Highway 14, the place where Anna’s life had ended.
He parked on the shoulder, staring at the intersection. The skid marks were still faintly visible. A bouquet of flowers lay at the base of a streetlight, wilted from time.
Teddy stepped out of the car, the wind biting against his skin.
He stood there for a long time. Then, finally, he whispered, “I love you.”
The wind carried his words into the night.
And for the first time since that awful call, he let himself cry.
Let himself grieve.
And somehow, he knew Anna was still with him.
Not in the way he wanted. But in the way that mattered. Always.
Be the first to comment