Ten years earlier, my life had fallen apart in the middle of the night.
At two in the morning, two police officers knocked on my door.
I knew something was wrong the moment I saw their expressions.
They told me my only son, David, had died in a car crash. The road had been slick, and his vehicle lost control before hitting a barrier.
He died instantly.
Vanessa, who had been sitting beside him, survived with only minor injuries.
For two days, I moved through everything in a daze—arranging the funeral, answering calls, trying to accept that my son was gone.