They heard the scream before they saw the glass. One moment, a quiet Sunday. The next, a windshield exploding, a body on the asphalt, and a town staring at the truth it had dodged for years. How many warnings did they ignore? How many jokes about “slowing down” hid raw fear and guilt? In La Rochelle, one crash ripped away every excuse, every “he’s still fine,” every “she only drives nearby.” Because when metal meets bone, there is no more pretending, no more later, no more gentle del…

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