My Abusive Foster Dad Thought He Broke Me — Then I Saved A Mafia Boss’s Wife

Part 1

The rain hit my face like freezing needles, stinging my cheeks as I walked along the crumbling shoulder of the coastal highway.

I had been running for three solid days.

Three days since I slipped out the second-story window of the Riverside Children’s Home in the dead of night.

Three days since Mr. Thompson tried to put his hands where they absolutely did not belong.

My sneakers were basically held together by hope and stolen duct tape.

My thin cotton jacket clung to my shivering ribs like a second layer of freezing skin.

Everything I owned in the world was crammed into one weathered gray backpack slung over my narrow shoulders.

I was eleven years old, entirely alone, and completely invisible to the wealthy drivers rushing past in their warm, dry cars.

Then the tires screamed.

A luxury black sedan hydroplaned wildly on the slick, rain-soaked asphalt right in front of me.

I watched in slow motion as the heavy car spun completely out of control.

It smashed violently through the rusted metal guardrail, tearing the steel apart like tissue paper.

The vehicle tumbled down the jagged rocky slope, flipping end over end.

It plunged hood-first into the churning, furious gray ocean below.

At least twenty people stopped their cars and ran to the edge of the broken barrier.

They pointed down at the freezing water.

They yelled frantic instructions for someone else to call the fire department.

A woman in a bright red raincoat shouted that the driver would be dead before the paramedics arrived.

People pulled out their expensive phones to record the tragedy.

Nobody made a single move toward the water.

I dropped my heavy backpack onto the muddy gravel without a second thought.

I kicked off my broken shoes, leaving them abandoned by the guardrail.

I scrambled down the treacherous, slippery rocks, scraping my knees bloody against the stone.

The freezing ocean hit my chest like a solid brick wall.

The violent current immediately tried to drag me sideways and smash me against the cliff face.

Salt water burned my eyes, blinding me as the waves crashed over my head.

I kicked furiously through the freezing surf, aiming for the sinking metal tomb.

The expensive sedan was going down incredibly fast.

The massive engine block was already completely submerged in the black water.

Through the rear window, I could see a woman trapped desperately in the passenger seat.

Her dark hair billowed around her face in the rapidly rising water.

She was pressing her mouth against the very roof of the car, gasping for the last tiny pocket of breathable air.

I reached the vehicle and grabbed the heavy silver door handle.

Locked.

I swam to the passenger window and beat my small fists against the reinforced glass.

The woman looked right at me with wide, completely terrified eyes.

My lungs burned like they were filled with acid.

I dove straight down into the pitch-black water beneath the sinking chassis.

My bare fingers scraped frantically along the jagged rocks lining the ocean floor.

I finally grabbed a heavy, sharp piece of torn metal from the shattered bumper.

I surged back up to the passenger window, my muscles screaming for oxygen.

The woman was unconscious now, her body floating limply in the flooded cabin.

I swung the heavy metal fragment with absolutely everything I had left in me.

Nothing happened.

I struck the glass a second time, leaving a massive spiderweb of cracks across the surface.

Black spots danced violently at the edges of my vision.

I hit it a third time, and the glass finally shattered inward.

Freezing water rushed into the car, sucking me forcefully inside the cabin.

I fought the violent current and grabbed the unconscious woman tightly around the waist.

Her seatbelt was still jammed tight across her chest.

I fumbled blindly with the metal buckle until it finally clicked and gave way.

I wrapped my thin arms around her heavy body and kicked furiously upward toward the faint gray light.

My head broke the surface just as my vision started to go entirely dark.

I choked in a massive, agonizing breath of freezing air.

The waves threw us violently against the barnacle-covered rocks.

My shoulder tore open against the stone, leaving a bright streak of red in the white foam.

Somehow, I found the strength to drag her dead weight onto a narrow strip of muddy sand.

She wasn’t breathing at all.

Her skin was the color of dirty ice, her lips a horrifying shade of blue.

I pushed hard on her chest, mimicking exactly what I had seen on hospital television shows.

Water poured steadily from her pale mouth.

I pinched her nose shut and breathed air deep into her still lungs.

Push.

Breathe.

Push.

Her body suddenly convulsed on the wet sand.

She choked violently, coughing up lungfuls of seawater, and her dark eyes fluttered open.

Sirens wailed loudly from the wet highway high above us.

An ambulance skidded to a chaotic halt near the broken metal guardrail.

I needed to disappear immediately.

If the police found me here, they would send me straight back to Mr. Thompson’s wandering hands.

I grabbed my completely soaked backpack from the rocks.

I started scrambling quietly up the slope, keeping my head low to avoid the flashing emergency lights.

A massive black SUV with completely tinted windows pulled up silently behind the ambulance.

It was the kind of pristine vehicle that moved far too quietly for its size.

The kind of car that usually meant very serious trouble was about to start.

The three men in expensive suits stepped out of the black SUV, but they weren’t looking at the ambulance — they were staring dead at me.