My Husband Asked Me Why I Survived a Tragedy
That Happened 18 Years Ago and His Daughter Didn’t
I stammered, “I… I was thrown clear of the ride.” His eyes narrowed, searching mine. The air grew heavy. “You never told me that,” he said, voice low. I felt the past clawing back—screams, the sickening crunch, her small hand slipping from mine.
I’d buried it deep, but those clothes, a cruel relic, unearthed it all. “I didn’t want to relive it,” I whispered. He stepped closer, our son watching from the doorway, confused. “You survived, but you’ve been running ever since,” he said.
Tears stung my eyes. He was right. I’d built a new life, a new family, but the guilt never left. “We can’t keep pretending,” he added, softer now. I nodded, trembling. That night, I told him everything—every haunting detail. For the first time in eight years, I felt the weight lift, just a little.
