She inhales a sharp, jagged, desperate pull at life. Then, she exhales a slow, soft, final breath.

“Tee?” My voice barely makes a sound, like I lost the air in my lungs along with her. I watch, waiting for her chest to rise, waiting for her to take it back, to breathe again, to stay.

But there’s nothing.

“Tee, please.” My voice cracks, splintering under the weight of my desperation. My fingers dig into the twisted wreckage, as if holding on to the shattered car could somehow hold on to her. “Please, don’t go. Just hang on a little longer, please. I need you. I love you. I’m so sorry. I’m so—”

My words dissolve into sobs ripping from my chest like something is being clawed out of me.

I beg God to rewind the moment. I beg for a miracle. For forgiveness. For mercy. For a redo. For something other than this. But no matter how hard I plead, she doesn’t open her eyes. My love is gone. My world is no longer the same.

The next few hours passed in a blur of chaos, every single second etched into my bones, burned into my soul.

“My daughters were airlifted to the nearest hospital—one to have her leg amputated, the other to undergo three surgeries for a half-functioning arm. And my dad…My dad. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. He was just trying to help. Just trying to be there for his son’s wife and his granddaughters. Just trying to help a son too busy chasing ambition to realize that he already achieved the ultimate goal.”

I feel Kerry’s tears as her lips press against my skin, temporarily bringing me back to reality while I bury my face in my hands.

I suck in a trembling breath, that barely fills my lungs. “I did this. I’m the reason for it all, Kerry.” My voice isn’t even mine anymore. “The deaths. My daughters’ trauma. My mom and Hudson’s loss. It’s all because of me.”

I find myself suffocating from my guilt all over again, but Kerry doesn’t let me drown. She doesn’t let me go.

Instead, she moves closer, peeling my hands from my face, intertwining our fingers before gently guiding my arms around her waist. Then, she pulls me into her, and holds me against the softness of her body, pressing my head to her chest. And I let her hold me together because I don’t have the strength to do it myself.

I just wait. I wait for her to tell me I’m right, that my grief is justified and so is my guilt. But she doesn’t.