PART 1
My name is Darius Bell, and ten years ago I was thirty-one, a warehouse supervisor with a mortgage, a good truck, and a wife I would have walked into traffic for.
Then traffic walked into me.
My older daughter, Greta, was only three years old, and my younger daughter, Amelia, was just six months old when I was in a car accident.
A delivery van ran a red light on Kessler Road on a Tuesday nb afternoon, and I woke up four days later in a hospital bed that smelled of antiseptic and other people’s flowers, with a nurse explaining very gently what the letters on my chart meant.
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The doctors told me I was lucky to be alive, but that I would never walk again.
T-11 complete.
I remember the number because it was the only thing in that room that didn’t seem to be lying to me.
