My husband answers the call while we’re washing dishes. Oh my God, I hear him say. Accident. Rollover. Your daughter’s conscious. I don’t break down like I expect myself to. My coat and shoes are on before my husband hangs up. Twin brother is silent all the way to the hospital. Older sister wails through the phone. I have suddenly become an optimist. She’ll be fine, I tell them. In her hospital bed, cut, bruised, her brain battered, she’s alive. Of course she is. I knew this. I don’t cry until I tuck her into her own bed that night.
Annette Gulati is a freelance writer living in Seattle, Washington. She is currently working on a memoir. www.annettegulati.com Twitter: @AnnetteGulati