Kayla
Kayla wakes up in the hospital three weeks later. Coma, they tell her. Car accident, they tell her. You worried us for a few weeks, but you'll be okay now. She has no family, no one to see her. She has her things given to her in a bag. She walks, unsteadily, down to the reception.
"Can you call me a cab?" she asks. She just wants to go home.
"I believe there's a car in the lot for you already," the receptionist tells her.
Kayla turns around. Walks down the hallway, pushes open the hospital doors.
There's a brand-new baby blue Porsche parked out front.
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