At Christmas dinner, my sister looked straight at me across the table — my own childhood table — and said, perfectly calm, “If you can’t act like a real adult, then maybe you belong on the streets.” She had no idea I’d be driving back to my place — in the city — that very night. Snow dusted the porch outside, a Hallmark movie hummed softly from the living room, and the table was set with gold-rimmed plates and candles. It should’ve felt warm. It didn’t. I’d driven three hours through icy highway

A week before my wedding, my fiancé's late wife's sister, who suffers from a severe storm phobia, ran my car off a bridge. She rammed into me eighteen times at eighty miles an hour. When my fiancé, Liam, arrived with the ambulance, I was being pulled from the wreckage. But he ran past me to the other car, a modified Hummer with just a dented bumper, and pulled the trembling girl, Chloe, into his arms. "Dr. Vance," one of the paramedics said, his voice urgent. "Your fiancée is in critical conditi

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