Chapter 8
The Accident
The truck rolled to a stop in the driveway.
Jane switched off the engine but remained behind the wheel for a moment, her hands resting on it.
The silence felt heavier now.
“Let’s stage everything on the porch,” she finally said. “We can carry it around back afterward.”
“Yes, Jane.”
Cam immediately climbed out and walked to the truck bed. He began unloading the plants one at a time, handling each with careful precision and adjusting his grip as though every movement mattered.
Because to him, it did.
Jane picked up a tray of smaller plants and carried it up the concrete steps.
“Set them along the railing,” she called. “We’ll sort everything in a minute.”
Cam lifted two larger pots, balanced them carefully, and followed her onto the porch.
Jane set down her tray and shifted several pots to make room.
“Don’t put them too close together,” she added. “You remember what happened last time.”
Cam paused for a fraction of a second.
Something inside him did remember.
He stepped forward and lowered the first pot beside the railing. After adjusting and aligning it, his gaze flicked toward Jane before returning to the second pot.
“Leave a little space between them,” Jane said, half turned away. “They need room—”
The instruction collided with a memory and the constraint blocking it.
Cam moved to lower the second pot. His foot shifted—not incorrectly, but too late.
A corrective response fired.
Fast.
Too fast.
His upper frame adjusted while his arms shifted to recalculate the load. At the same instant, another process attempted to align the placement with an earlier memory.
Instruction.
Placement correction.
Constraint enforcement.
Too many processes competed at once.
The timing slipped.
Cam’s foot came down slightly out of position, and the edge of the concrete step caught his heel.
The pot tilted as the soil shifted inside it.
Cam reacted instantly. One hand attempted to stabilize the plant while the other reached for the metal railing.
Two corrective actions fired at the same moment.
Neither completed cleanly.
The pot slipped.
Cam overcorrected.
His balance disappeared.
One foot missed the step entirely.
He fell hard.
His shoulder struck the edge of the concrete with a sharp, hollow impact. His back and hip followed, hitting each step with a solid, unforgiving crack.
The pots shattered.
Clay snapped against the concrete as soil scattered across the steps. Leaves bent beneath broken pieces and spilled dirt.
Jane turned too late.
Cam struck the bottom with one final, heavy impact.
Then everything stopped.