They said she had probably felt nothing. She was walking down the street, and the car was going in the same direction, coming up behind her. She probably didn’t hear it, since it never hit the brakes. There wasn’t any squealing to warn her what was about to happen. She probably did not even know it had come up the curb until it hit her.
She probably, then, did not feel that moment of terror before the impact, her eyes going wide as she was unable to move out of the way fast enough, not on the slick ice.
She probably didn’t hear the crunch of the metal colliding with her spinal column, the power of hundreds of horses slammed through her organs.
She probably did not feel the cold of the frozen sidewalk against her face as she slid across it, melting it with her spilling blood, which she probably could not smell either. She probably didn’t hear her breath rattle out as escaping fog. She didn’t have time to think about things she needed to say or bills that needed to be paid or that book she had realized she had put in the wrong place only after she was two blocks from the library. Her mother, they told her, did not hear the screams around her at the sight of her own contorted figure, or feel the regret of all the things she had not done in her life devoured so much by the children she was not supposed to have in the first place. Probably.
Maddie supposed they thought that was a comfort to her eldest, as if anything could be. It wasn’t. Still, Maddie was the quiet one, considerate, and she said thank you even though she didn’t mean it.