“What does that mean?”
“I wasn’t hit.”
“I know. The police said there wasn’t another vehicle involved.”
“I mean I didn’t just lose control.”
I stared at him. He scrubbed both hands down his face, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.
“Emma had broken up with me.”
I couldn’t make the sentence fit inside my head. “What?”
“The night of the crash.”
I actually laughed, once, because it made so little sense.
“Emma has been here every single day.”
“I know.”
“You two have been together this whole time.”
“No,” he said. “We haven’t.”
And that’s when the room started to feel much too small.
He told me they’d been struggling for months before the crash. Nothing dramatic, at least not at first. Emma’s dance schedule had gotten more intense. Daniel’s job had gotten more stressful. They saw less of each other. He resented it. She resented his resentment.
