“Victoria, stay behind me. I don’t want her to see you.”

Ben is facing the street and I’m instantly shoving down the hysteria bubbling to the surface. My body begins to bolt forward, but Ben push me behind him. “Stop, Ben. Where is she? You found her?”

“She’s across the street, Sunshine. Hiding between two parked cars.” I can hear the trembling in his voice, the same shaking that has ahold of my whole body.

I know why he wants me to stay behind him, and I have to fight every instinct not to run to my baby girl, but every time Sarah sees me, she takes off in my direction full speed, with no regard to what’s around her. So, I stand still and wait.

“Sarah Bear,” he calls. “Stay right there. Daddy is coming to find you. Stay hidden, sweetheart, and I’ll find you.”

He begins to walk forward, and I step off to the side, my heart in my throat. I watch him step into the street, glancing both ways before beginning to cross the empty road. Our house sits on a main road in town, with a higher speed limit because technically it isn’t a residential street. Thus the fenced yard—my parents never let me play in the front—keeping me away from the danger of speeding cars.

Part of me is so relieved to find her across the street safely, the other is freaking out as I imagine her crossing it in the first place.

“I’m going to find you, Sarah Bear!” Ben calls again, “Stay in your hidey hole.”

I begin to breathe a little when he is two feet from the shoulder of the road and Sarah is almost within his grasp.

“Victoria!”

No, no, no!

My mother calls my name, her voice frantic. I watch in slow motion as Sarah’s head whips in my direction when she hears my name. Ben is leaning over to pick her up and before he can grasp her, she bolts past him into the street. I scream for her to stop and take off running, but am yanked backward, my father saving my life from the car that would have hit me had I leapt from between the parked cars, on either side of me.

Life speeds up again and Ben is running after her, scooping her up into his arms, never stopping as he crosses over the two lanes on the opposite side. I hear the loud blaring of horns and just like that, life drops into slow motion again. There are suddenly cars coming in both directions, forcing Ben to choose to run back, or continue on to my side of the road. He chooses to keep coming and is narrowly missed by a sedan that swerves to avoid him. Across one lane, one to go. An oncoming car honks and swerves left to get around him and an SUV in the next lane, going the opposite way, does the same.

The world shifts under my feet as I realize that a silver truck is behind the SUV, unaware of the deadly game of Frogger going on. The sound of screeching breaks pierces the air as the truck spins and the next time I blink, there are three vehicles twisted together in the center of the thoroughfare. There is ringing in my ears, a sound so loud that my head is splitting open from the agony.

Pain. This is real.

A figure lays unmoving on the ground, three feet away from the wreck. The large frame of a man, wrapped around a tiny lump of sunshine yellow fabric.

The sound grows louder, my throat feels as though it is being ripped to shreds, and I realize as I tear toward them, that the sound is screaming.

It’s me.

Screaming.

My bare knees hit the ground hard and I barely register the sharp bite of glass digging into my flesh. The only thing I feel is numbness. There is blood, it’s all over the ground.

All over them.

Someone pulls on my arms and I think they tell me not to move them, but how can I stay away. My heart is on the ground in front of me, and I need to know that it is still beating.

I can’t see through the waterfall of tears, and I can’t hear through the pounding in my head, so I lay my hands on the two huddled bodies in front of me and when I don’t feel my heart beating, I know.

It’s stopped.

There is no pain.

This can’t be real.

Three Days Later

The sun is shining, and it glints off the caskets as one by one, they are lowered into the ground. One large, with lavender roses laid across the top, holding half of my heart. The other so tiny, with pretty lavender daisies in the arms of a fuzzy stuffed bear, I don’t know how the rest of my heart fits inside it.

How can the sun shine?

Doesn’t it understand that it’s lost its brightest rays?

After the accident, I was lost to the numbness, and I hung on to that, knowing that without the pain, there was hope that this wasn’t real. But when the doctor brought me a simple gold band and a tiny gold locket, I felt it. The anguish ripped through me, every cell, every nerve, my whole body was tearing apart from the agony. Pain. No. I won’t believe it.

Pain. This is real.

I’m alone, despite the crowd of people around me. People talk to me, but I don’t hear them. I want to ask where the third casket is. I can’t live without a heart, right? And yet, here I am, my heart and soul buried, and somehow breathing without them.

As I face the fact that I am forced to live, I realize I’m grateful for the absence of these vital parts of me. Without them, I feel nothing. I walk away from everyone, ignoring each person as they call to me, I leave all of my emotions behind.

And, even though this is my reality, I feel no pain.

“Now,” I narrow my eyes and pin several of my smart-ass students with a firm stare, “Don’t think by choosing ‘Power and Dominance’ as your topic that I’m going to accept a bunch of BDSM papers. If you took anything out of this class, you’ll understand that it is much more than floggers and calling someone Daddy.” An eruption of laughter roars in front of me. “Anyone who chooses that topic will be graded harder than say one that nobody ever chooses, like ‘Cognitive Biases of Decision Making’ or ‘Parental Investment.’”

The chuckles die down and several of them groan, clearly they were all headed to Tumblr to begin their research right after class.

I smirk at their disappointment and continue. “You have two weeks to complete this assignment as per what the grading rubric specifies. Wednesday and Friday of this week, we’ll use our class time in the Media Center to begin our research. All papers are due the week before finals and it is twenty percent of your overall grade, as you’ll see if you refer back to your syllabus. Anyone have any questions?”

Mack, the class idiot, raises his hand. “Two weeks isn’t very long to do a twenty-five-page research paper, Dr. Monroe. Especially when finals are around the corner.”

Several other students groan in agreement.

I frown and scrunch my eyebrows together as if to contemplate his complaint. “You know, Mack, you have a point. Forget the assignment.”

When they all cheer, I laugh. “Kidding. Do the assignment. Don’t be lazy. Most of you are U of C seniors and plan on taking internships at psychiatric wards and private practices this summer. Do you think they want lazy asses?”

Some of the class chuckles at my cursing while others are grumbling at my not-so-funny joke.

“I’m here to make it tough,” I regard Mack with a serious look and push my black-rimmed glasses up my nose, “Because those patients out there are going to be one helluva lot tougher than I am. Suck it up and do the assignment. See you guys Wednesday and don’t forget to have your topic posted on Blackboard before next class.”

The class groans and shuffles as they gather their things. Cort, my teaching assistant, strolls down the steps and drops his bag on my table. He’s been my assistant for two years now, but I’ll lose him in a few weeks once he graduates. Then it’ll be a nightmare selecting another to take his place. The guy’s familiar with the way I like to grade and keeps me organized. It sucks that I’ll have to start all over in the fall.