A voicemail from a stranger. A sterile hospital waiting room. Two cops who wouldn’t meet my eyes.
My name’s Rachel. I’m 19, and last fall, my world fell apart when my parents died in a car crash. One minute they were on their way to dinner; the next, I was standing in a cold hallway at 3 a.m., clutching a paper cup of vending machine coffee, wishing I could hit rewind.Continue reading…
