I was lucky, though. The emergency responders showed up just in time, pulling me out seconds before the truck exploded.
But the long period of pressure on my legs crushed the bones, and it took six long months before I could walk again.
It wasn't until a few months ago that I found out what had kept Ophelia so "busy" back then.
She was planning a welcome-back party for Edmund, who had just returned from abroad.
Meanwhile, I was stuck with post-traumatic rheumatoid arthritis, a constant reminder that flared up every time it rained.
With my words leaving her no room for excuses, Ophelia just stood beside Edmund, both of them quiet.
Just as she opened her mouth to try again, I cut her off. "I've got things to take care of. You take care of your first love."
With that, I continued my tracks, disappearing down the hallway.
In the office, my childhood buddy held the paternity test results. Worry was etched all over his face as he looked at me.
"Duncan, perhaps… you shouldn't look at this?" he suggested, almost hesitantly.
But deep down, I already knew what was coming, so I snatched both reports and compared them side by side.
The first one read: [0.00000001% chance of a biological relationship]