The Other One Never Meant Much Anyway
Part 1
The windshield looked like shattered ice.
Every breath I took burned. My seatbelt dug into my chest, pinning me against the twisted frame of the car while the smell of gasoline filled the air.
Someone was screaming.
It took me a moment to realize the sound was coming from me.
"Dad..."
My voice barely escaped my lips.
Everything hurt.
My left leg wouldn't move.
Warm blood trickled down the side of my face, blurring my vision.
Outside, flashing red and blue lights bounced across the broken glass.
Sirens.
Voices.
Footsteps.
"We've got two teenage girls trapped!"
"I need the hydraulic cutters!"
"Is everyone conscious?"
Relief washed over me.
Help had arrived.
They were going to save us.
Then I heard my father's voice.
He sounded frantic.
"My youngest! Please save my youngest first!"
I turned my head just enough to see him.
He wasn't looking at me.
He was kneeling beside the passenger side where my sixteen-year-old sister, Lily, had been sitting.
She was unconscious.
Her face was covered in blood.
"Dad..."
I whispered.
He didn't even glance in my direction.
A paramedic hurried toward my side of the car.
"I've got another victim over here."
Before he reached me, my father grabbed his arm.
"No."
The paramedic frowned.
"Sir?"
"My younger daughter first."
"We're assessing both."
"No!" Dad shouted.
"Please! Lily first!"
The medic nodded.
"We'll do everything we can."
Then another paramedic looked toward me.
"This girl is awake. We need to stabilize her immediately."
I felt hope.
Someone had finally noticed me.
But then my father said words I'll never forget.
He pointed directly at me.
"The other one never meant much anyway."
Silence.
Even the paramedics froze.
"Don't waste time on her."
I stared at him.
Certain I'd imagined it.
Maybe I had a concussion.
Maybe my ears weren't working.
He couldn't have said that.
Not my dad.
Not the man who tucked me into bed when I was little.
Not the man who taught me how to ride a bike.
Not him.
But he looked straight at me.
Cold.
Expressionless.
Like I wasn't his daughter.
Like I was nothing.
"Save Lily."
One of the firefighters turned slowly toward him.
"Sir..."
Dad repeated himself.
"If someone has to die..."
He swallowed.
"...let it be her."
He pointed at me again.
Every word landed like broken glass inside my chest.
The firefighter's jaw tightened.
The paramedic beside me whispered quietly,
"We're ignoring that."
Another medic nodded.
"Absolutely."
Within seconds they surrounded my side of the vehicle.
"Stay with me," a woman said gently.
"My name's Rachel."
I couldn't stop staring at my father.
Why?
What had I done?
Why did he hate me?
Rachel followed my gaze.
She looked at my father.
Then back at me.
"I need you to focus on my voice."
Tears rolled down my face.
"My dad..."
"I know."
"No..."
I whispered.
"You don't."
Forty-five minutes later...
They finally cut the door off the car.
Pain exploded through my body as they lifted me onto the stretcher.
Everything blurred together.
Lights.
Rain.
Voices.
Someone shouting blood pressure numbers.
Another person counting.
Then I heard Dad again.
He wasn't asking about me.
He wasn't following my stretcher.
He never even looked in my direction.
Instead he climbed into the ambulance with Lily.
I watched the doors close.
He disappeared without saying goodbye.
Without asking if I'd survive.
Without a single glance.
My ambulance left thirty seconds later.
I cried the entire ride.
When I woke up, everything was white.
Hospital ceiling.
Hospital sheets.
Hospital walls.
Machines beeped steadily beside me.
Every inch of my body hurt.
A nurse noticed my eyes open.
"Oh, thank goodness."
She hurried over.
"Can you tell me your name?"
"...Emma."
"Good."
"What day is it?"
"I don't know."
"You've been asleep for nearly twenty hours."
I blinked.
"My sister?"
"She's in surgery."
"My dad?"
The nurse hesitated.
Then forced a smile.
"Try to rest."
That wasn't an answer.
She knew it.
I knew it.
"He isn't here."
Silence.
I looked toward the empty chair beside my bed.
No flowers.
No balloons.
No jacket hanging over the chair.
No father waiting.
Nothing.
The nurse quietly squeezed my hand.
"I'll get the doctor."
She left before I could ask anything else.
Minutes later the door opened again.
I smiled automatically.
"Dad?"
Instead...
A police officer walked in.
Officer Martinez looked uncomfortable.
He carried a small notebook but kept it closed.
"Emma?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry to bother you while you're recovering."
"It's okay."
He pulled up a chair.
"I need to ask a few questions about the accident."
I nodded weakly.
He asked where we'd been driving.
Who was behind the wheel.
Whether I remembered another vehicle.
I answered everything.
Then he became strangely quiet.
"There is...one more question."
"What is it?"
He studied my face.
"Has your father ever treated you differently than your sister?"
I froze.
"What?"
"The paramedics filed reports."
My stomach tightened.
"They reported something your father said at the scene."
My eyes filled with tears.
"So..."
"It wasn't a dream."
Officer Martinez slowly shook his head.
"No."
The room suddenly felt freezing cold.
"He really said it."
"Yes."
I covered my face with both hands.
For the first time since the crash...
I realized the accident hadn't broken my heart.
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