As the sun set, dark clouds veiled the stars. A mild wind blew, carrying a soothing breeze through tree branches.
At twelve years old, Raina was her mother’s only child. A gift— after thirteen long years of failing to conceive.
She was protected and pampered, a precious, curly haired jewel, priceless and irreplaceable.
Before Raina’s birth, her mother had endured soul-crushing verbal abuse from others.
“You’re practically a man,” some had sneered at her. Maybe, she thought, this was the reason she couldn’t conceive.
As the clouds thickened that evening, excitement filled Raina’s heart.
She watched her friends race across the newly tarred road in front of her home, her face lighting up with longing.
“Raina! Don’t cross that road. It’s getting late,” her mother called sternly.
“Okay,” Raina said calmly, her eyes still fixed on her friends. The urge to join them grew stronger.
She waited, watching her mother’s every move, until her mother disappeared from view behind the storm door.
Raina tiptoed carefully, seizing her chance, then darted into the road, looking back as she ran, unaware of the silver Chrysler speeding toward her.
The car screeched with a “skrrrrrr” and a terrible “gbooo!” as it hit Raina. Her body flung limp to the roadside.
Her eyes rolled back as her mom ran out to the road. Torn—sobbing with tears, she was left with a question that burned her soul:
What if she had never said anything to Raina that day?
