The Road to Valentina
The October fog hung low over County Road 47, wrapping the Illinois countryside in a cold, eerie silence. The cracked asphalt stretched endlessly ahead, and the world felt frozen — waiting for the sun to burn through the mist.
Chase Hail pulled his old jacket tighter and kept walking, his boots crunching against the gravel. It was almost six in the morning, and he’d already been on the road for forty minutes.
He was heading to the Hutchinson farm to fix a leaking roof. The job paid seventy dollars and came with a hot lunch — not much, but when you had a six-year-old daughter and bills stacked high on the kitchen table, every bit counted.
He thought about Belle, still asleep back at their creaky farmhouse. He pictured her wild hair and the little rabbit plush she refused to sleep without. Hold on, sweetheart, he told himself. We’re gonna make it. Just a little longer.
Then, through the fog, something caught his eye — a dark, still shape in the ditch.
At first, he thought it was just a pile of clothes. But then the shape moved. His heart jumped. Chase broke into a run.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Are you okay?”
When he reached the ditch, what he saw made his knees buckle. A woman lay twisted in the mud, her body bent in a way no living person should be. Her face was bruised and swollen, her blouse torn, and her legs didn’t move. A wheelchair lay nearby, one wheel bent and splattered with mud, as if someone had thrown it there.
“Oh my God…” Chase whispered. He pressed his fingers to her neck. There — a pulse. Weak, but there. She was alive.
“This wasn’t no accident,” he muttered under his breath. Nobody looked like that from just a fall.
Without thinking, he scooped her up. She was frighteningly light, her head rolling limply against his chest. The fog thickened around them as he trudged back toward his farmhouse. Every step burned his muscles, but he didn’t stop — not once.
By the time the house came into view, his arms trembled from exhaustion. He laid her gently on his bed, covered her with blankets, then sprinted to his neighbor’s place.
He banged on the door. “Mrs. Doy! I need your phone! There’s a woman — she’s hurt bad!”
The old woman gasped and handed him the receiver. The 911 operator’s voice was calm but firm: the nearest ambulance was three hours away.
Three hours. Chase froze. That was too long.
He grabbed his first-aid kit and ran back home. The woman’s lips were turning blue, her body shaking uncontrollably. He knelt beside her, held her cold hand, and whispered, “You’re safe now. Just hang on, okay? You’re safe.”
Two hours passed. Chase stayed by her side, checking her pulse, talking to her so the silence wouldn’t swallow them both.
And then — she stirred.
Her eyes opened, terrified and glassy. “Please,” she croaked, voice raw. “Don’t let them find me.”
“No one’s gonna hurt you,” he said quickly. “You’re safe here.”
“They burned my chair,” she whispered. “Said I wouldn’t need it anymore… Veronica watched. She just watched.”
“Who’s Veronica?” Chase asked gently.
“My sister,” the woman breathed. “Our father was a fool… giving me the company… when I can’t even walk.”
Then her eyes rolled back, and she fell unconscious again.
When the ambulance finally arrived, Chase followed it all the way to St. Catherine’s Hospital in Bloomington. Belle sat beside him, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
“Daddy,” she asked in a tiny voice, “is the lady gonna die?”
He looked at her, his throat tight. “Not if I can help it, baby.”
At the hospital, a detective — Officer Martinez — took Chase’s statement. Afterward, he said quietly, “Between you and me, this looks like attempted murder. But she’s alive because of you, Mr. Hail.”
Hours later, a doctor told him she was stable but still unconscious. Broken ribs. Heavy bruising. Sedatives in her blood. Someone had tried to make sure she never woke up.
That night, Chase sat on his porch under a sky full of stars. It had been two years since his wife, Andrea, died and his business fell apart. But tonight, for the first time in forever, he felt like he had a purpose again.
The next morning, Belle begged to visit the woman. She brought her crayons and taped her drawings on the hospital wall. She even set Mr. Bunny beside the woman’s pillow. “So she won’t be lonely,” she said proudly.
Three days later, the woman finally opened her eyes.
She blinked, dazed, until she saw Chase sitting by her bed. “You,” she said weakly. “You carried me.”
“Yeah,” he replied with a small smile. “Guess I did.”
“They wouldn’t have,” she murmured. “Most people… once they see the chair…”
“You’re not broken,” he said firmly, before realizing he’d spoken aloud.
She stared at him, surprised — then smiled faintly. “What’s your name?”
“Chase Hail.”
“Valentina,” she whispered. “Valentina Cross.”
Chase froze. Cross. Cross Technologies — one of the biggest companies in the country. He’d seen her face in magazines before. The woman he found dying in a ditch was one of the most powerful CEOs in America.
Officer Martinez confirmed it later that day. “She’s been missing for two days,” he said. “Her stepsister Veronica took control of the company. We believe they wanted Valentina out of the picture — for good.”
Over the next week, Chase and Belle became Valentina’s regular visitors. Belle read her stories. Chase brought her soup. Slowly, Valentina started to heal — not just her body, but her spirit too.
But when the day came for her to leave the hospital, she said softly, “I can’t go home. It’s still a crime scene. And if I stay in a facility, Veronica will say I’m unfit to lead. I have nowhere.”
Chase hesitated, then blurted, “Stay with us.”
Valentina’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve got room. I’ll build ramps. You’ll be safe.”
“Why would you do that for me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Because I know what it feels like to have no one show up.”
Her eyes softened. “Okay. But I’ll pay rent.”
“Deal.”
By the time she arrived, Chase had transformed his farmhouse — new ramps, a fixed bathroom, even a handmade desk for her work.
When he lifted her from the truck, she looked around and smiled. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
He laughed. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I mean it,” she said. “It feels like home.”
Life settled into a gentle rhythm. Chase worked construction during the day. Valentina ran her company remotely. Belle helped with her physical therapy, counting aloud: “One butterfly, two butterfly, three!”
At night, they sat by the fireplace, and Valentina told Chase everything — how she’d discovered her board stealing millions, how her sister had smiled while men pushed her from her chair. Chase’s jaw tightened. “You’ll make them pay,” he said.
“I don’t want revenge,” she whispered. “I just want my life back.”
Winter crept in. Valentina started laughing again. Belle adored her. The house felt alive.
One night, Chase found Valentina practicing how to move from her chair to the sofa.
“Need a spotter?” he teased.
“Always,” she said, smiling.
She slipped slightly, and he caught her. For a moment, their faces were inches apart.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For not treating me like glass.”
“You’re the strongest person I know.”
“I feel fragile around you,” she murmured, “but in a good way.”
His hand lingered on her cheek. “Valentina, I—”
She placed her hand on his chest. “I think I’m falling for you, and it scares me.”
“Because you’ve lost too much,” he said softly.
“So have you,” she replied.
He smiled faintly. “Finding you felt like breathing again.”
They didn’t kiss then. But something deep changed between them that night.
Weeks later, her new custom wheelchair arrived — sleek, silver, and strong. Belle covered it with butterfly stickers. “For good luck!” she said. Valentina laughed until she cried.
By Christmas, the house was glowing with warmth and laughter. But one evening, Valentina got a phone call. “The trial date’s set,” she told Chase. “I have to go back to Chicago.”
He nodded slowly. “I figured.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” she said, voice trembling. “Come with me. You and Belle. I’ll find her a school. I’ll find you work. My company needs a head of construction. Please, Chase… I love you.”
His eyes widened. “You… love me?”
“Yes, you stubborn man,” she said with a tearful laugh. “I love you. I love Belle. I love this life we built.”
He stepped forward and kissed her. “Then yes,” he whispered. “We’ll come.”
By spring, they’d moved to Chicago. Chase managed construction at Cross Technologies. Belle thrived in her new school. The old farmhouse became their weekend home.
The trial ended with Veronica and the corrupt board sentenced to decades in prison. Valentina rebuilt her company, launching Project Butterfly — a program for accessibility, inspired by Belle’s courage.
Months later, Valentina rolled into Chase’s office, smiling. “Lunch?”
He grinned. “The boss is asking me out?”
“Consider it a performance review,” she teased.
At the restaurant, she handed him a small box — a key. “The farmhouse,” she said. “I had it restored. Roof’s fixed. It’s ours now.”
He stared. “Valentina, I don’t—”
“Yes, you do,” she said, cutting him off. “You saw me when no one else did.”
Then she pulled out another box — a simple, elegant ring. “Marry me, Chase. Not because you saved me. But because we choose each other, every day.”
He was speechless. Tears filled his eyes as he nodded. The restaurant erupted in applause.
When they told Belle that night, she squealed. “Mr. Bunny told me this would happen!”
The next winter, snow covered the farmhouse roof — the same roof Chase had fixed himself. The three of them sat by the fire, laughter filling the air.
“Do you ever think about that morning?” Chase asked quietly.
Valentina smiled. “Every day. If you’d left five minutes earlier, if the fog had been thicker…”
“But it wasn’t,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Maybe fate knew what it was doing.”
She laughed softly. “Broken things can be rebuilt.”
“Or turned into something even better,” he said.
Then Chase pulled out a gold ring engraved with coordinates. “Valentina Cross,” he said, voice trembling, “I loved my wife, and I always will. But loving you doesn’t replace that. You’re not a second chance — you’re the reason I still believe in them. Will you marry me — again — officially, this time?”
Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “A thousand times yes.”
Belle came running in, shouting, “You’re crying happy tears!” and wrapped them both in her arms.
Chase looked at Valentina — the woman he’d once found broken by the roadside — and realized something simple and true:
Fate hadn’t sent him to save her. It had led them to save each other.
Epilogue
Cross Technologies became a symbol of inclusion and hope. Ramps, open halls, and color-coded systems — Belle’s ideas — filled every floor. Chase ran the construction division. Valentina led with heart and steel.
Every year, on October 14th, the three of them drove to County Road 47. They’d stand by the ditch where it all began and leave wildflowers there.
And Belle would always place one extra petal in the dirt.
“For the broken roads,” she’d say softly, “that lead us home.”