The first thing I remember is the sound of metal tearing apart.
The second is my husband looking directly at me and doing absolutely nothing.
Rain hammered the windshield as our black Range Rover skidded sideways across the narrow bridge outside Wilmington, North Carolina. I screamed as the passenger side slammed into the concrete barrier.
My older brother, Evan, was strapped into his wheelchair behind me.
For fifteen years, he had been unable to move anything below his waist.
At least, that was what I believed.
“Cole!” I shouted.
My husband didn’t answer.
The SUV crashed through the railing.
For one terrifying second, we were weightless.
Then the river swallowed us.
The impact knocked the air from my lungs.
