The minutes after the impact stretched on as if time itself had forgotten how to move.
It felt like being trapped inside a single second that refused to end. The rain kept falling—soft, persistent, almost respectful. It covered everything: the wreckage, the dirt road, Marion's face, and Ty's skin, who now knelt in the mud, trying to make sense of whether any of this was real.
That metallic taste still lingered in his mouth. Blood. He didn't know if it was his, hers, or both. He just knew he was soaked to the bone, trembling, head pounding, and heart hollow.
Marion's breathing was the only sign that she was still there. Weak. Shallow. But there. Ty held her hand tightly, as if his grip alone could keep her tethered to the earth. Her face was wounded, her forehead cut, one side already bruised. Her eyes closed. Unconscious.
— "Stay with me," he whispered again, voice cracking. "Please, Marion. Don't leave me."
He bent over her, trying to shield her from the cold, the rain, the truth. But he couldn't protect her from what had already happened.
Behind him, Spartacus let out a low, painful whinny. The rope tied to the broken fencepost stretched every time he moved. His rear leg bled. It trembled. The horse was breathing fast, turning his head in every direction, completely lost. Still in panic.
Ty stood up, staggering. His left shoulder burned—probably dislocated—and his right leg dragged through the mud. Even so, he reached the horse. He rested a hand on Spartacus's soaked neck.
— "Easy… I'm here."
Spartacus took a step back, but didn't run. He was exhausted. Afraid. Confused. His eyes still wide and shining. Ty lowered his head and leaned his forehead gently against the horse's face. He closed his eyes.
— "You felt it, didn't you? You knew something was wrong."
And for a moment, the horse stopped shaking. He just stood there, feeling the warmth of that touch. For a few seconds, the world paused again.
But then, it moved on.
Ty pulled off his jacket and went back to Marion. He folded it and placed it beneath her head, kneeling again beside her. His heart pounded in his ears. The fear whispered nonstop: what if it's too late?
He tried to call emergency services. But the phone, now wet, had no signal. The bars were gone. It only served to show the time—and the seconds slipping through like knives.
There was nothing he could do but wait.
Time passed, and the cruelest sound in the world was her uneven breath.
Then, finally, something different. An engine. Grinding through the mud, climbing slowly. Headlights broke through the misty gray morning. The old pickup—Ty would recognize it anywhere.
It was Jack.
He jumped out before the truck had even stopped completely. Hat on his head, urgency in his eyes. When he saw Marion lying on the ground, the world seemed to freeze for a second.
— "Ty?!"
— "Here!" Ty called, raising a bloodied hand.
Jack rushed over, dropped to his knees beside his daughter. His usually hard expression drained of color. His mouth trembled. He touched her face, brushed back her damp hair.
— "Is she alive?" His voice cracked.
Ty nodded.
— "Barely… but she is. I got her out of the truck. The seatbelt was jammed. I tried calling for help, but there's no signal out here. Do you have a radio?"
Jack was already on his feet.
— "I do. Stay with her. I'll call for backup."
He ran back to the truck, pulled out the radio, and started calling the Hudson medical station. His voice was steady, but Ty could hear the panic hiding between the pauses. The emergency code, the location, the curve past the woods.
Marion didn't move. Her breathing now seemed even slower.
— "Just hold on a little longer… please," Ty whispered, squeezing her hand.
From the other side of the fence, Spartacus whinnied again—softer this time. Ty turned to see him staring straight at Marion. He didn't understand, but he felt. He felt something was wrong. Something broken. Something that wouldn't be the same again.
Jack returned with the radio slung over his shoulder.
— "They're on their way. But with this drizzle and fog… the helicopter might not be able to land close. The ambulance will take time through this mud."
He knelt beside his daughter. Took her hand gently.
— "Marion… my girl… open your eyes. Just a little. Give me something."
Nothing.
Ty lowered his head. He was caked in mud to the elbows. Dried blood mixed with rain on his face. His body ached. But nothing hurt more than the guilt.
— "I should've stopped it," he whispered. "I switched places with Amy because I felt it wasn't her day. But I couldn't stop what was really going to happen. I thought I was saving someone… and I ended up putting you in the path instead."
Jack looked at him. It took a moment to register.
— "Amy was supposed to go?"
Ty nodded, ashamed.
— "But something told me she had to stay. That it wasn't her time. That it was mine. I felt it. I traded places."
Jack didn't speak immediately. He looked down at his daughter, struggling to breathe. Then he placed a firm hand on Ty's shoulder.
— "You did what you thought was right. And now you're here. Helping. Saving. That's a choice too."
The air grew colder. The rain picked up. The ground turned to soup beneath their knees. And still, they didn't move. Ty stood again, walked back to Spartacus, and laid a hand softly against the horse's head.
— "You didn't want to get in that trailer. You were restless. You were trying to warn us…"
Spartacus leaned his head against Ty's shoulder. A simple gesture, but full of meaning.
— "I felt it too," Ty whispered. "But I wasn't strong enough."
There, on that curve, on that forgotten road, time split into before and after. Ty knew nothing would ever be the same again.
Not for him.
Not for Spartacus.
Not for Heartland.
And as they waited for help to arrive—between the sound of rain and the silence of those who love too deeply to walk away—Ty understood: fate sometimes whispers. It twitches. It kicks. But no one ever listens.
Not until everything has already happened.
And the price… the price always comes after the crash.