The night of the accident, she finally ended it. Not because she’d stopped loving him, he said. But because she told him she couldn’t keep proving her love every single time she did something without him.
I sat there listening to my own son describe behavior I would have called controlling in a heartbeat if any other woman had told me about it.
My mouth had gone dry. “And what does any of this have to do with the motorcycle?”
He stared down at the blanket for a long time.
“After she left,” he said, “I went after her.”
Part 3: The Text He Sent That Night
“I called her,” Daniel said. “She wouldn’t answer.”
My stomach tightened. “Daniel.”
“So I rode to her apartment.”
“After she told you not to come?”
He didn’t answer. That was its own answer.
Emma wasn’t home. She’d gone to her friend Maya’s place because she didn’t want to be alone that night. Daniel knew where Maya lived.
