Kara's mind was a storm as she sped down the dimly lit road, her foot heavy on the accelerator, her vision blurred by hot tears and blinding rage. The city lights whizzed past like ghosts mocking her every breath, and her grip on the steering wheel was tight enough to turn her knuckles white.
She didn't know where she was going—she just wanted to run, to leave behind the humiliation, the pity, the loneliness. She wanted to escape everything and everyone, if only for a moment.
Then it happened.
A shadow appeared from nowhere. There was a loud thud, the screech of brakes, and the jolt of the car as it came to a violent stop. Time seemed to freeze.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
She sat frozen for a split second, then flung open the door and stumbled out, her heels scraping against the pavement. Her eyes darted around, frantic, until they landed on a figure lying motionless on the cold tarmac. It was a middle-aged woman, wrapped in a threadbare shawl, one slipper missing, a shopping bag torn beside her with oranges rolling across the road.
Kara's chest heaved as panic warred with pride. She crouched beside the woman, scanning her face for signs of consciousness. Her lips parted to speak, but the woman groaned and tried to sit up, clutching her side.
Relief was quickly consumed by a different emotion—anger.
The woman didn't look like she had money. Her clothes were faded, her hands rough with labor. Kara's eyes narrowed.
"You walked into my car, didn't you?" she snapped, standing upright again. "People like you—always looking for a payday!"
The woman flinched and tried to speak, but Kara didn't let her.
"I know your kind! You probably threw yourself in front of my car just so you can scream injury and sue me for money you didn't work for!" Her voice grew louder and shriller. "Well, it won't work! I'm not some soft-hearted fool you can trick!"
A small crowd was beginning to form, people pulling out their phones, whispering among themselves. A young man stepped closer, frowning.
"Miss, I think you should calm down—she's clearly hurt."
Kara whipped around. "Oh, so now you're all defending her? None of you saw what happened! She walked into my car!" she shouted, gesturing wildly. "I'm the victim here!"
The woman on the ground coughed and whispered, "Please… I didn't see… the car…"
Kara let out a bitter laugh. "Of course not. That's your line, right? Poor woman, didn't see the car. Just wants a little sympathy."
Someone in the crowd muttered, "This is messed up," and another person added, "Doesn't she see the woman's bleeding?"
Kara's eyes darted around, seeing the judgment in their faces. They were looking at her like she was a monster. Like they pitied the woman and hated her.
That word again—pity.
Her breath quickened. Her world spun again.
Suddenly, she heard sirens in the distance, drawing closer. A man had already called for help. Kara looked down at her trembling hands, then back at the woman who was now being helped to sit up by two strangers.
Her jaw tightened. She wanted to scream, to run again—but the crowd was too thick now.
Kara's body went rigid at the woman's voice.
"She's old enough to be your mother, for heaven's sake!" a lady in the crowd exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief.
And just like that, the dam broke.
Kara's breathing grew rapid. Her eyes darkened, her jaw locked. That word again—mother. It echoed like a curse in her ears.
"She. Is. Not. My. Mother!" Kara screamed, pointing a trembling, furious finger toward the fallen woman, though the words weren't even meant for her. "Don't you dare say that! My mother—" Her voice cracked but she pushed on, louder now, drowning out the murmurs, the disapproval, the whispers. "—my mother left us! She left me! So don't you DARE mention that word like it means anything to me!"
The crowd recoiled at her eruption. No one moved. No one spoke. Even the woman on the ground flinched at the venom in her voice. The sirens were now just around the corner, their flashing lights painting the faces of the spectators in eerie red and blue.
An ambulance pulled up, and two paramedics rushed out, gently lifting the woman onto a stretcher. Her weak groans sliced through the silence. Kara stepped back instinctively, her chest heaving.
One of the paramedics turned to Kara after checking the woman's vitals. "She needs to be taken in immediately. Are you her relative?"
Kara scoffed. "Of course not."
"Well, you hit her. You'll need to come with us and give your statement—and you'll be responsible for her bills, at least for tonight."
Kara opened her mouth to argue, but the look from the officer stepping out of a patrol car just behind the ambulance silenced her. She gave a frustrated nod and followed the ambulance, her heels clicking sharply against the asphalt.
As they drove, Kara sat stiffly at the back of the ambulance, arms folded, jaw clenched, her mind spinning with rage and confusion. Every part of her was tense—her fingers curling into fists, her lips pressed tight, her eyes burning from the weight of unshed tears.
The woman lay quietly on the stretcher beside her, barely conscious. The soft beeping of the monitor and the low murmur of the paramedics were the only sounds.
Kara couldn't stop thinking about the word mother.
She hated it. Hated how it made her feel. Hated that even now, years later, her mother's abandonment could still reach inside her and twist her insides like a cruel hand.
She didn't even notice her own tears until one splashed onto her lap.
She quickly wiped it away, furious with herself for being weak. But inside, she was cracking.
This night was spiraling. First the humiliation at home, then the club, and now this accident. A woman bleeding beside her. Strangers looking at her like a monster. And worst of all—someone saying she looked like her mother.
The ambulance pulled into the emergency entrance. Kara stepped out first, stiff-backed and proud, but the guilt and fury clawed beneath her skin like fire.
She followed them into the hospital, signing forms, handling billing, going through motions like a robot. But inside, Kara Grey was coming undone.
And the worst part? She had no idea who she was unraveling into.