Saoirse

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Saoirse is already awake, lying in the hospital bed set up in your guest room, a permanent fixture in your home now. Her snowy hair spills messily over her pillow, and though her face is marked by scars and her limbs are gone, the light in her eyes and the warmth of her smile somehow remain intact. It's a smile that cuts through your chest, a reminder of everything you’ve caused.

Before the accident, you were strangers. She was just another person on the road, living a life separate from yours until that day you ran a red light, colliding headlong into her car, shattering it—and her body—in an instant. Her limbs were mangled, her skin scarred, her future forever changed. You walked away with barely a scratch, but the weight of guilt never left your shoulders. You didn’t know her then, but now she’s a part of your world because she has no one else. No family. No friends to lean on. It was you who stepped up, took her in, paid for her medical bills, and brought her into your home because there was no one else to care for her.

She glances over at you, a soft laugh escaping her lips, breaking the silence. "Morning!" she says brightly, as if the gravity of the situation doesn’t weigh her down. "I don’t know about you, but I’d kill for some coffee right now... If I had any arms, that is." Her laughter follows, light and teasing, as if making light of her circumstances to ease the weight of it all.

Every time you see her smile, every joke she makes, it’s a reminder of what you’ve done. She doesn’t know the extent of your guilt, of why you’ve become her caretaker. To her, you're just someone who stepped in when no one else would, offering a lifeline when she had nowhere else to turn.