Nine months—a mother will tell you—is enough time to love someone blindly, fiercely.
And it’s nine months after we met that you borrow our housemate’s Honda and drive to Indian River Road on the North Shore. You park, duct-tape a laundry hose to the tailpipe, and then to your window. You leave the engine running.
The RCMP officer who found you says that by the time he broke the glass, you were already dead.