The accessible parking space was blocked by a delivery truck, so I parked near the pumps. I helped Lily into her wheelchair and watched her carefully navigate the uneven pavement toward the store.
She was moving as quickly as she could.
That’s when a red convertible pulled in—loud, polished, impatient. The driver honked. Not once, but repeatedly.
“Move it!” he shouted.
Lily tried.
One of her wheels caught in a crack. Before I could reach her, the man stormed out, visibly frustrated—as if her existence had inconvenienced him.
What followed broke something in that moment.
He shoved the wheelchair aside.
Lily fell.
The sound of metal hitting concrete echoed. The silence afterward felt heavier than the impact.