Life 2.0
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 1
It was a normal spring Tuesday afternoon in Manhattan. Han Ji-Eun had finished lunch and had just left a client’s office with a deposition. Moments earlier, Brent Arnold had stepped out of his office building in the same high-rise where Ji-Eun worked as a paralegal. His eyes caught her half a block away. He zeroed in on the statuesque five-foot-nine Korean beauty as she strode down the middle of the sidewalk like she owned it, thinking, That is one gorgeous woman.
Suddenly, a white BMW jumped the curb to avoid hitting a motorcycle. At that instant, it was as if time shifted into slow motion. She never saw the car approaching from behind. Brent watched in horror as the car hit her right where its headlight was, knocking her forward about thirty feet before running right over her left leg. The BMW then veered off the sidewalk and crashed into a parked car.
From where he stood, it appeared the woman’s leg was crushed, mangled at a severely sick angle. The car had just passed in front of him when he took off running toward her. She was lying on her back, a bad cut on her forehead where she’d hit the pavement, but she was gushing blood from her mangled leg. Brent quickly pulled his necktie off, wrapped it around her calf right below the knee, and cinched it tight. He had blood all over both hands. A lady was screaming from the sight, and gawkers started to crowd around the fallen woman. Brent yelled, “Get the hell back!”
A bystander told Brent, “I called 911. They’re sending the police and an ambulance.”
“Thanks, man.”
The woman grabbed Brent’s jacket. Her eyes were wide with shock. She saw the blood all over his hands and she pleaded with him. “Pleeease, please don’t leave me! Promise you won’t leave me.”
“I promise. I promise. I’m right here. I’m not gonna leave you.”
The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. The paramedic looked at Brent when he saw her leg and just shook his head. Brent was at her head now, stroking her temple with one hand and holding her hand with the other. Her eyes were locked on his. He reassured her again. The paramedic stabbed her leg with a morphine lancet. When they tried to load her onto the gurney, she started to flip out. She had Brent’s hand in a death grip. She wasn’t letting go. “You promised!”
“Promised what?” the paramedic asked.
Brent replied, “I promised I wouldn’t leave her.”
“Well, she’s had 500 mg of morphine. I can’t give her any more. She’s too agitated and going into shock. Switch hands with her and climb into the ambo as we load her in. Go on, reassure her.”
Brent leaned over and put his mouth near her ear and softly said, “I’m here. I won’t let go of you. We’re going to go to the hospital. They’re going to put you in the ambulance, but I’m right here. I’m going with you.”
She was hyperventilating but seemed to start calming as Brent spoke to her. The paramedic said they were going to Mt. Sinai, where the shock trauma center was in Manhattan.
When they got her into the emergency room, the attending ordered, “Prep her for surgery.”
They cut her jacket, skirt and blouse off, leaving her in her bra and panties. The nurse started an IV. Brent clenched his jaw to keep from losing it. The whole time, she never took her eyes off of him. She wasn’t crying out loud, but he gently wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb.
The attending ordered, “Propofol, 2 mg IV, stat.”
Within a few seconds, the woman just closed her eyes and went limp.
The doctor looked at Brent. “If you wish, there’s a surgical waiting room on the sixth floor outside the operating rooms.”
Brent nodded and watched as they wheeled the woman toward surgery.
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