I looked up some of my old friends’ Instagram accounts, but what did I have in common with any of them now? Most of them had recently graduated, and if I hadn’t screwed up, I would have graduated with them. I winced as I scrolled through their pictures. There they were, partying, laughing, without a care in the world. In bikinis at somebody’s pool, bottles of beer in their hands. I’d never fit in with them again. I didn’t want to. Even my best friend Robin looked like she was toasted. They’d learned zip from my experience. They probably thought that what happened to me was just shitty bad luck. I felt so alone, looking at the pictures. My boyfriend of two years—Trey—was gone. My girlfriends would no longer have a thing in common with me. My parents were worthless. I had no one.

I thrummed my fingers lightly on the keyboard. Did I dare look up Trey? In for a penny, in for a pound. Before I could stop myself, I clicked on his Instagram profile. Oh damn. I knew right away I shouldn’t have done it. Trey stood beneath a sign that read GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY LAW CENTER. The last year had only increased his physical beauty. That tousled blond hair. The eyes that were sometimes hazel, often green. The smile that was always there and that could melt me in two seconds. He looked so happy. So secure in his future. I realized in that moment, staring at his beautiful face, that I hated him. It was a good feeling. Almost healing, that hatred. Did Trey ever think about Emily Maxwell? Did he even know her name? I doubted it. I had the feeling only one of us had a conscience.

There was a picture of Trey with his family. The four of them stood in front of a broad, glittering Christmas tree. I remembered how they’d hunt and hunt for the perfect tree to fill the corner of their huge living room each year. Seeing his parents’ smiling faces, seeing his younger sister Becky with her arm around Trey’s waist, her head against his shoulder, was almost more than I could bear. I’d thought of his family as mine. The normal, happy, healthy family I’d yearned for. I’d called his mother “Mom.” I’d embraced Becky as the sister I’d never had. I’d lost them when I lost everything else.

There was one more person I still wanted to search for, though the thought of actually finding her scared me: Emily Maxwell. But Google turned up only a couple of hits, all of them related to the old news articles about the accident. Maxwell was taken to Rex Hospital, where she remains in a coma. The driver, twenty-one-year-old Morgan Christopher, was charged with driving while intoxicated.