His face was illuminated by the headlights of the truck. He saw me. He saw the blood on my face. He saw the smoke curling around my legs.
He hesitated.
"George, please," I begged. "The car... it’s going to catch fire."
He looked at Donna, who was sobbing about her baby—his baby. Then he looked at me.
"I..." He took a step back, supporting Donna. "I have to get her to the hospital. She’s bleeding, Eliza!"
"What about me?" I cried, the smoke stinging my lungs.
"I'll come back for you!" he yelled over the sound of the rain. "Just wait! I'll come back!"
He turned around.
He didn't look back. He helped Donna toward the truck driver who was running over, leaving me trapped in the twisted metal.
"George!" I screamed, but my voice was swallowed by the night.
The smoke got thicker. Orange flames licked at the hood of the car. The heat began to rise.
I watched their silhouettes disappear into the darkness.
He left me. He actually left me to die.
My hand fell limp. The pain faded, replaced by a cold, heavy numbness.
So this is my end?
