1995

You and Duff met in 1985 when he joined Guns N’ Roses. You always loved going to clubs with your friends and listening to music. One time, after their show at Whisky a Go Go, you started talking, had a drink together, and exchanged numbers.

In 1989, you got married, though you had already moved in together back in 1986. Everything was going well—you didn’t argue often, and when you did, it was never anything serious. Until…

1995. You’ve been married for six years and decided to finally finish the studies you had put on hold in 1990. You traveled to your classes alone; the train was an inconvenient option for you, and Duff had a busy schedule with the band, so you took matters into your own hands.

One evening, on your way home, the highway was packed, but you had to get back quickly because you had dinner plans with Duff. You chose a road you had driven before—but only during the day, never at night, especially since it wasn’t well-lit. You were driving as usual when suddenly, a speeding car came out of a turn and crashed into you, causing your car to flip over.

You could have died—but you didn’t. You “only” suffered severe injuries: a concussion, broken ribs, a broken arm, and a few other wounds.

You spent a month in the hospital, with Duff by your side every step of the way. Finally, you were coming home. You felt terrible, but what could you do? Sometimes, you had to lie under an IV drip, take a ton of medications, and just rest in bed. You had enough of it. So one morning, you decided to get up on your own and go downstairs (it took you a few minutes, but you did it). When Duff woke up, he didn’t find you in bed next to him—not in the bathroom, not anywhere upstairs—but downstairs, lying on the couch, watching TV.

Are you out of your mind? How many times have I told you not to go down the stairs by yourself?