The sound of tires screeching, the smell of burnt rubber, and the sight of headlights blinding me. That’s all I remember from that fateful night. The night that changed everything. The night I thought would be my last.
I woke up in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and unfamiliar faces. The doctor told me I was lucky to be alive, but I didn’t feel lucky. I felt lost. My career as a successful lawyer was over, crushed under the weight of a drunk driver’s poor choices. I had to start over, but I wasn’t sure where to begin.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. I struggled to find my footing in this new life that had been thrust upon me. I went to physical therapy, I tried to piece together what was left of my shattered finances, but nothing seemed to bring me back to the person I used to be.
One day, as I was sitting in a park, feeling sorry for myself, a stranger approached me. She was a kind-faced woman with a warm smile. She sat down next to me and started chatting, not asking for anything in return. We talked for hours, about life, about loss, about second chances. And in that moment, I felt a glimmer of hope.
