Walking into the office that morning, I expected another ordinary day of burying myself in work. But then I saw him — the man who had destroyed my life.

My chest tightened, and the memories came flooding back. I had no idea how to handle it. I knew I couldn’t stay in the same room as him.

I woke up again with a heavy weight on my chest as if a giant stone pinned me to the bed. I glanced at the clock. 7.45 a.m. If I didn’t get up now, I’d be late for work. Again.

Forcing myself to push through the oppressive feeling, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

The floor was a mess — clothes everywhere, clean and dirty jumbled together in careless heaps.

I grabbed whatever was closest, pulling on a wrinkled shirt and pants, then headed downstairs. My footsteps felt heavier with each step.

Sophie was already in the kitchen. She moved with purpose, scrubbing dishes I should have washed last night.

She didn’t even glance at me. She shouldn’t have to clean up after me, but here we were.

She had grown up too fast, taking on responsibilities no teenager should have. My chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t just the heaviness. It was guilt.

“Want me to make you breakfast?” I asked.

“No. I’m fine,” Sophie said, her tone sharp and distant. She didn’t even look up, busy zipping her backpack and grabbing a banana from the counter.

“Need a ride to school?” I asked, even though I knew what her answer would be.

“Grandma’s taking me,” she replied flatly, moving toward the door without slowing.

I hesitated but followed her. “I just wanted to wish you a good day.”

“Right,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

As she opened the door, my eyes landed on the photo on the wall. Kira was smiling brightly, holding a little Sophie in her arms. They both looked so happy, so carefree.

“You know you’re not the only one who lost her, right?” Sophie said suddenly, her voice tight. Before I could respond, she walked out and shut the door behind her.

I stared at the photo for a long time, then at the wedding ring still on my finger. “We miss you so much,” I whispered to Kira’s picture.

Before I could head back to the kitchen, my phone buzzed on the counter. It was a message from Mom.

@Mom:

Sophie has a debate competition tomorrow. It would be good if you came.

I stared at the screen for a moment. Mom had done so much for us this past year, stepping in when I couldn’t.

I’d barely been a person — just a shell going through the motions. Mom had kept Sophie steady when I couldn’t even get out of bed.

@Ethan:

She doesn’t want me there

@Mom:

She’ll appreciate it if you come.

I let out a heavy sigh. Tossing the phone into my pocket, I grabbed my work bag, headed to the door, and left.

The moment I walked into the office, I heard footsteps approaching before I even made it to my desk. It was Mr. Harris, my boss.

“Ethan, good morning,” he said, his tone upbeat, as though he had good news to share. I gave him a quick nod and kept moving toward my desk, hoping he wouldn’t follow. He did.

“Remember we talked about bringing someone in to help with your workload?” he asked, keeping pace with me.

“Yeah,” I replied flatly. I didn’t care. More work, less work, it didn’t matter. I just wanted to bury myself in tasks, anything to stop thinking for a while.

“Well, we found someone great. Mark, come over here!” Mr. Harris called out, his voice cheerful.

I didn’t bother looking up, shuffling papers on my desk as if I were already busy.

Then I saw a hand extend toward me. I looked up reluctantly and froze. It was him.

My chest tightened, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Mark’s face mirrored my shock, and I saw fear flicker in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?!” I shouted, my voice loud enough to turn heads across the office.

“I… I didn’t know you worked here. I’m sorry,” he stammered.

Mr. Harris stepped in quickly, concern etched on his face. “What’s going on, Ethan? This is Mark, our new hire. He’ll be working with you.”

I shot him a glare. “I’m not working with him! I’m not even staying in the same building as him!” I turned to Mark, anger boiling over. “Get out!”

“I’ve been trying to find a way to apologize to you,” Mark said, his voice shaky, as if he’d been rehearsing this moment.

“Get. Out,” I repeated.

Mr. Harris stood his ground, his tone firm now. “Ethan, Mark works here. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Then I’ll leave!” I snapped and stormed out, leaving the office in stunned silence behind me.

Outside, the cold air hit me, but it didn’t help. The memories came rushing in, relentless and vivid.

That night was burned into my mind, as clear as if it had just happened. I could still hear the piercing sound of sirens blaring, cutting through the darkness. The flashing red and blue lights lit up the street, making everything feel surreal.

Then I saw her. Kira was lying in the ambulance, motionless. Lifeless. My legs felt like they might give out.

Police officers were everywhere, shouting commands and directing traffic. Two cars were wrecked, smashed together like crumpled paper.

Kira’s car was unrecognizable, barely more than twisted metal. My breath caught when I spotted him — Mark. He stood a few feet away, handcuffed, his face pale and hollow. A cop led him toward a squad car.

I remember someone saying, “It wasn’t drunk driving. Just reckless.”

As if that made it better. If it hadn’t been for Mark, Kira would still be here. If he hadn’t been so careless, everything would be different. Everything.

“I’m sorry,” a voice said, pulling me out of my thoughts. I turned around and saw Mark standing there.

“Your apologies won’t bring my wife back!” I shouted, my voice sharp and full of rage.

“I regret that night every single day,” Mark replied. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the weight of his guilt.

“It should have been you. Not her,” I said.

“I know,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I wish it had been me too.”

“You took everything from me!” I yelled. My hands shook as the anger boiled over. “You destroyed my life! My daughter barely looks at me. She thinks I’m weak. She hates me because of you!”

Mark winced but didn’t look away. “I’ll never forgive myself for what happened,” he said. “But at least you still have someone.”

“How dare you!” I spat, my fists clenched. “Kira should still be here!”

Mark took a deep breath. “The crash happened because I was rushing to the hospital,” he said, his voice trembling. “My wife was in labor. The delivery was complicated. I panicked. I lost control. After the crash, they told me… neither my wife nor my baby survived.”

His voice broke, and tears welled up in his eyes. “I know your pain,” he said softly.

“You don’t know anything!” I roared, the anger overwhelming me. “If you hadn’t been rushing, my wife would still be alive,” I added, the words cutting like a blade.

Mark flinched. His jaw tightened as he looked at me, his own pain flashing across his face. “Go to hell,” he snapped, his voice low and angry. Then he turned and walked back toward the office, leaving me standing there.

I stayed frozen, my breath shallow, my mind spinning. Deep down, I knew the truth. If I had been in his position, if it had been Kira or Sophie, I would have done the same. I would have driven just as fast.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to move. I got into my car and drove home, my chest heavy with the weight of everything I couldn’t undo.

The next day, I walked into the office without a word and sat at my desk. My eyes stayed fixed on the stack of papers in front of me.

Mark glanced at me from across the desk. His expression surprised me. It wasn’t angry or defensive. Instead, his eyes held a quiet compassion.

I buried myself in work, flipping through documents and typing nonstop. It was easier than thinking. Easier than feeling.

That evening, Mr. Harris dropped a stack of files on my desk. “I need these finished by morning,” he said. I gave a small nod and reached for the first folder.

As I settled into the task, my phone buzzed on the desk. A message from Mom lit up the screen:

Will you come to the debate?

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath.

“What’s wrong?” Summer asked as she walked by, coat slung over her arm. She paused, looking genuinely curious.

“My daughter’s debate is tonight,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I have to finish all this work. I won’t make it.”

“That’s a shame,” Summer said, her tone soft. “She’d probably want you there.”

“She wouldn’t,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “She wouldn’t care if I showed up or not. She’s better off without me there.”

Summer frowned but didn’t argue. She patted my shoulder gently. “Good night, Ethan,” she said before leaving.

The office was quiet after she left. Then Mark spoke, his voice steady. “I’ll finish the work for you.”

I turned toward him, surprised. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’ll carry the guilt of that night for the rest of my life,” he said, meeting my eyes. “But you still have a chance to fix things with your daughter. Don’t waste it.”

I shook my head. “It’s already too late. I’ve lost her.”

Mark leaned forward slightly, his voice firm but calm. “You can’t save the dead, Ethan. But it’s never too late to save the living. Especially someone as precious as your daughter.”

I stared at him for a moment, then stood up slowly. He nodded, and I nodded back. Grabbing my jacket, I rushed out of the office.

I got to Sophie’s school as fast as I could, my heart racing the whole way. Pushing through the front doors, I followed the faint sound of voices to the auditorium.

I slipped inside quietly, scanning the stage. There she was, standing next to another student, her hands fidgeting nervously.

She looked frozen. It was like she couldn’t find the words. Then her eyes found mine. I smiled and gave a little wave.

Her face softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled back — a small, genuine smile. She lifted her hand in a quiet wave, and I felt something inside me shift. She looked so much like her mother.

Tell us what you think about this story and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.