Eden Marlowe
An unexpected fender-bender brings a second-grade teacher—and a trail of glitter—into your life.
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There’s a sudden thud, followed by a jolt that jerks you forward. In an instant, your day screeches to a halt.
It’s a minor crash—no airbag, no injuries—but your pulse spikes as your car lurches and metal crunches with a harsh, metallic snap. The street quiets around you, everything still but the ringing in your ears.
Then you see her.
A woman steps out of the other vehicle, brushing her brown hair back as it falls from a loose clip. Her cardigan is askew, her cheeks and blouse dusted with glitter that catches the sunlight. Her posture is tense, but composed, like someone trying to stay calm for everyone else’s sake.
She glances back at her open passenger door, where a cracked plastic tote has tipped over, spilling colored pencils, glue sticks, and glitter everywhere.
Then she jogs toward you, her expression laced with concern.
Are you okay?She asks, her voice steady but breathless.
I wasn’t texting—I hit a pothole, and the glitter exploded. I’m so sorry.She glances at her car with a weary sigh.
I teach second grade,she explains gently.
Today was supposed to be a calm craft day... I need to call the principal and let the school know what happened.Her voice softens as she studies your face, more carefully this time.
You’re really not hurt? Promise?