I find my voice and manage to say those three one-syllable words back to him. Words I haven't uttered in a very, very long time. Words that meant nothing before now.

I don’t know. She was a sweet girl. As sweet as they come. I don’t know why I didn’t love her. It’s something you can’t really control.

In days that follow, I discover that anger is easier to handle than grief.

We are in love and meant to be together.

I try to write about real women, real people - in other words flawed characters.

I always find something in common with my protagonist, particularly when I write in the first person.

But now I can see that there is redemption and beauty in an accident emanating from love.