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Not Every Step Has a Story
We were headed to Aurora, Utah to see my wife’s paternal grandparents. Fourth of July weekend. The kind of trip you imagine will be uneventful — until it isn’t.
I watched in the rearview mirror as the accident I saw coming unfolded in slow motion. I’d just slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the car in front of me — who had failed to stop before hitting the car in front of them. Then, behind us, smoke rose from the tires of a car traveling way too fast. They swerved into the lane where we were, hit the car behind us, propelling us forward into the mess ahead.
Five cars. Center lane. Rush hour. The entire freeway shut down for almost three hours.
Our car had only 600 miles on it. We bought it as a gift for my wife after she finished pharmacy school with top honors. It was honestly one of those purchases you make when you’re young, proud, and think, “This is how you begin a good life.”
My wife was pregnant with our first child.
Our car looked totaled. The car behind us had been forced underneath our car — both our back tires were off the ground. The hood of our car was slightly damaged, but we didn’t hit the accident in front of us with enough force for the air bags to deploy. But our insurance company wouldn’t total the car. Ironically, it was too new. Too much potential value still left in it…
