The Accident

HER POINT OF VIEW

The routine got easier after I finally enrolled Clarinha in school. Every day, I woke up at six, made breakfast, brushed her brown hair, and put her in that blue dress she loved so much. She looked adorable with the little backpack on, like a grown-up in miniature.

"Mommy, hurry up or we'll be late!" she'd say, tugging my hand as we walked through the cobblestone streets of Montmartre.

Autumn was settling over Paris, and the leaves were turning red and gold. The air had a sharper bite to it, and I always bundled up tight in my wool coat. That particular morning, though, I was in a mad rush. I'd left the house late and needed to drop her off at school and sprint to the bakery, where my shift started at eight sharp. My boss was strict, and I couldn't afford to be late — not with bills already squeezing me dry.

"Easy, my love, we'll make it," I said, picking up the pace.

Clarinha was chattering away, talking about her friends, about the drawing she was going to make. Then, as we crossed a busier street near some big modern office buildings, she spotted a black cat darting in front of us.

"Kitty!" she squealed, her voice bright and excited.

Before I could react or tighten my grip on her little hand, she broke free and dashed into the middle of the road. My heart stopped. I saw a sleek black car — big, expensive — bearing down way too fast.

"CLARINHA!" I screamed with everything I had, panic seizing my whole body.

I ran, caught her just in time, yanked her into my arms, and threw us sideways — but we couldn't avoid the car slamming on its brakes right beside us. The screech of tires dragging across asphalt was horrible. I hit the ground, shielding her body with mine, and felt a sharp bolt of pain tear through my knee and elbow.

It all happened so fast. The world seemed to spin. I only had eyes for her.

"Baby, are you okay? Are you hurt? Talk to Mommy!" I was shaking all over, checking every inch of her little body.

She was scared, her eyes brimming with tears, but she seemed unharmed. Just the shock. I let out a breath, relieved, though my heart was still hammering. Then I lifted my head, still gasping and teary-eyed, and looked at the car.

The driver's door swung open, and a man stepped out — quick and commanding. He wore an expensive suit, polished leather shoes, and his expression was a tangle of anger and concern. I didn't know who he was, but in that moment, all I could think about was how my life had just flashed before my eyes and how this man seemed to belong to an entirely different world.

I struggled to my feet, still holding Clarinha tight as she clung to my neck, hiding her face.

"Are you all right?" His voice was deep, serious, cutting through the noise of the street.

I swallowed hard, trying to collect my thoughts while my legs still shook beneath me.

HIS POINT OF VIEW

I hated being late. My life ran on a clock — every minute had a price, every second was money. That morning, I was already running behind for a critical meeting with investors from Singapore. Traffic was a nightmare, as usual, and I was losing patience, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel of my new car — a black imported sedan I'd barely picked up from the dealer.

"Marcos, tell them I'll be there in ten," I said into the speakerphone, driving with focus but with the kind of urgency that had become second nature.

I was locked on the road, mind already on the numbers, the contracts, when something small and fast shot across my path. It took my eyes a split second to register: a child. A little girl.

Panic hit me like a wall. I slammed the brake with everything I had. The car skidded, the stench of burned rubber filled the air. It stopped inches from them. I killed the engine, threw the door open, and was out before the car even settled.

My heart was hammering — rare for me, someone who always knew how to keep his composure. The first thing I saw was a woman on the ground, shielding a small girl with her own body. The sight cut straight through me. The thought that I could have hit them — I'd never have forgiven myself.

"Are you all right?" I asked, moving toward them fast, trying to control a voice that came out rougher than I meant it to.

They got up. The woman's clothes were rumpled, her jeans darkening at the knee where a bruise was already forming, a scrape on her arm. But what struck me most were her eyes. Brown, enormous, full of fear — but also full of an incredible strength. She was visibly trembling, yet she kept her daughter clutched tight, like a lioness guarding her cub.

The little girl was adorable — maybe three years old, light hair, round cheeks, frightened but peeking over her mother's shoulder anyway.

"I'm sorry..." the woman said, her voice soft, carrying an accent I recognized instantly. Portuguese. From Portugal. "She ran after a cat, I couldn't hold her in time... It was my fault, I'm so sorry."

She was so rattled she looked ready to faint or burst into tears at any second. A tangle of feelings rose inside me. Anger at the recklessness, but an enormous sympathy for her. She seemed so vulnerable standing there in that simple coat, against my tailored suit and luxury car. Two worlds colliding on that street.

"You need to be more careful," I said, still serious but trying to soften my tone. "This road is too busy to let go of a child's hand."

"I know, I know..." She shook her head, quickly wiping away a tear that refused to stay put, trying to look strong. "She's scared, and I — I got a little banged up, but we're fine. The car... aren't you worried about the car?"

I glanced at the bodywork. A small scratch on the wheel rim and the lower bumper, probably from when they fell. But I didn't care about the car. Cars get fixed, get replaced. Lives don't.

"The car doesn't matter," I said, meeting her eyes again. "What matters is that nothing serious happened."

I stood there, watching them. She was smoothing the girl's hair, speaking to her in quiet Portuguese, calming her down. There was something about her simplicity, about the way she loved that child above all else, that stirred something inside me — something that had been dormant for a long time.

My phone buzzed in the car, reminding me of the meeting, the business world, the obligations. But I didn't want to leave. I wanted to know more, wanted to be sure they were truly okay.

"Are you going to sue me?" she asked suddenly, her voice low and uncertain.

I frowned, caught off guard.

"Sue you? Of course not. I just wanted to make sure you're all right."

She seemed relieved, but still wary. She lowered her head, thanked me awkwardly, and said she needed to go — she was already late. Then, gripping her daughter's hand firmly, she turned and walked away fast, rounding the corner.

I stood there in the street, watching them disappear. The faint trace of her scent — something sweet and natural — hung in the air for a few seconds.

"Who are you?" I murmured to myself.

I got back in the car, but my mind was no longer on business. The image of that woman with the frightened brown eyes and that little girl wouldn't leave me. Something had shifted. And I was certain that the accident wasn't an ending — it was the start of something I couldn't yet explain.

***This work has been signed with NovelToon, and piracy such as reprinting without permission is strictly prohibited.***

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***