“That’s impossible.”
But Lily…
Lily made a sound I had never heard before.
Small.
Broken.
Terrified.
Slowly… her head turned toward me.
Not past me.
Not blindly.
At me.
My entire body went cold.
“She can see…” I said, my voice cracking.
The boy didn’t look surprised.
“She always could,” he said quietly.
“She just couldn’t say what she saw.”
My mind raced back to that night.
The crash.
The twisted metal.
My brother dead.
My wife barely injured.
None of it ever made sense.
“Tell him,” the boy said gently, looking at Lily.
For a moment, she shook.
Then finally… her lips parted.
“I saw mom…” she whispered.
“I saw her move into the driver’s seat… after the crash.”
The world tilted.
“No…” I stepped back.
“No, that’s not—”
“She told me not to say anything,” Lily continued, tears slipping under her glasses.
“She said you wouldn’t survive it.”
My hands started shaking.
All this time…
I thought I was protecting my daughter.
But she was protecting me.
From the truth.
From my wife.
From the fact that the person I trusted most…
was the reason my brother died.
The boy stepped back, like his job was done.
And just before he disappeared down the street, he said:
“Some people go blind from trauma…
and some just choose not to see.”
