One Night

**Inspired by a dream that I had last night**

We were coming home late from a dinner with a group of friends on a Thursday night. It was just a regular day for us. We both had worked and decided that we wanted to go out afterwards. He was driving our old brown Explorer when we were hit by a drunk driver.

I don’t remember the sound. Just a flash of headlights that were a little too bright, a sickening jolt as our car was hit from the front, and then just utter darkness as the air bags deployed.

When I opened my eyes, everything felt sideways. My vision was blurred and I felt a pain in the side of my head. I reached for Dominic's hand, searching for something, anything.

"Are you okay?" I mustered. God, my head hurt. I felt blood trickle down my face from the open wound on my head.

He didn't answer right away. Just a low groan, his hand twitching in mine. Relief swelled up in my chest until it hurt more than the bruises I'm sure that I would find later.

"I'm here." He rasped, with a slight wheeze in his voice.

I don't remember much, but the sirens came next. Dominic was pulled out first. I wanted to scream. Scream to the God that should have protected us. That one night changed us permanently. Irrevocably.

***

"Mrs. Herer, I'm truly sorry to tell you this but your husband suffered a traumatic brain injury during that accident. He may never walk again." The doctor was a blur of white as tears welled up in my eyes.

"You mean, he is paralyzed?" I managed to croak out.

"Yes Mrs. Herer. I am truly sorry." The male doctor placed their hand on my shoulder. I couldn't remember his name, the whole night was a blur. "Is there anyone we could call for you?" He asked politely.

I scoffed. "Dominic is my only family. At least the only one I care about." My mother would make this situation at least 10x worse and probably make it about her even though it was MY husband and I that received life altering news. She’d barge in with her fake concern and religious clichés, say something about God’s plan and about having strength through suffering. I could already hear her voice, and the very thought of her being her made my skin crawl.

“No,” I said firmly, meeting the doctor’s eyes. “Don’t call anyone. I’ll figure it out.”

He gave me a quiet nod. After a few quick checks on the machines that Dominic was hooked up to, he exited the room without a sound besides the soft close of the door.

Once he left, I sank into the hard plastic chair beside the hospital bed. The beeping machines were rhythmic, almost soothing in a sick way. Dominic looked so still. His face was bruised, a faint line of dried blood still tracing his temple, but it was the silence between us that felt the most upsetting.

We always had great conversations. There was great banter between us. Even when we were arguing, he never so much as raised his voice at me.

“I’m here,” I was whispering the last words I heard him speak. Like some kind of sick echo of the worst movement of our lives. My voice cracked in the middle, but I didn’t care. I reached for his hand. It was warm, heavy, unmoving. Tears slipped down my face and dropped onto the hospital sheet that he laid on.

I hated how cold everything felt in that hospital room. I had no idea what the future looked like now. Not for us. Not for him. I didn’t even know if he’d recognize me when he woke up. But I knew one thing, I wasn’t going anywhere. I prayed that when he opened his eyes, that he recognized me. That he could tell me he loves me. That we could work through this. I just wanted him to open his eyes and come back to me. I wasn't even sure that I believed in God anymore. Not after this.

Chloe Rose Violet 🌹