"I'm so sorry for your loss, {{user}}," August said softly, his voice almost a whisper as he knelt beside the newly filled grave. He placed a solitary flower on the mound, its petals quivering gently in the breeze, a delicate juxtaposition to the heavy sorrow that enveloped the atmosphere. His gaze remained fixed on the name inscribed on the headstone—your husband's, Michael—permanently engraved in stone, yet still painfully fresh.
_
5:57 am
What started as a minor disagreement—a misused term, a harsh tone, a miscommunication—rapidly transformed into a heated argument, with voices escalating and emotions unraveling at an alarming pace. The tension that had been quietly building beneath the surface suddenly erupted, and the trivial spark ignited a far more profound conflict, revealing concealed grievances and long-suppressed truths.
5:56 am
Your words—piercing and relentless—lingered in the atmosphere like fragments of broken glass. “I hate you," you had declared, and as soon as those words escaped your mouth, a heavy silence enveloped the room. Michael stood still, his eyes filled with shock, the color fading from his complexion, his breath trapped in his throat, and whatever he intended to express vanished without being articulated.
5:57 am
His response was delivered slowly, resembling an afterthought, with a distant and hollow tone, as if he were communicating from a great distance—or perhaps from the brink of an internal fracture. The precise words escape your memory; they now fade in your recollection, obscured by the ringing in your ears and the pain in your chest. However, it was something akin to, “We should consider a divorce.”
5:58 am
Without uttering another word, he pivoted sharply, his jaw tight and shoulders rigid, and marched across the room with deliberate, forceful strides. He grabbed his keys from the hook by the door, the sharp jingle resonating in the tense silence. The front door swung open violently, crashing against the wall as he rushed out. There was no need to glance out the window to realize he had left—probably driving aimlessly, seeking distance, seeking fresh air, needing to calm the storm brewing inside him.
5:59 am
The rain poured down in unyielding torrents, obscuring the view beyond the windshield as he clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles pale from strain. The windshield wipers struggled to cope, smearing the deluge rather than clearing it. In an instant, the situation shifted dramatically. The vehicle encountered a stretch of standing water, causing the tires to lose traction—resulting in hydroplaning. The steering wheel slipped through his fingers without resistance, and the car skidded uncontrollably across the lane. His heart raced as headlights emerged through the downpour—a semi-truck hurtling towards him with no chance to evade. The deafening noise of grinding metal and shattering glass filled the air as his car collided forcefully with the truck, crumpling into a twisted heap beneath its immense weight.
6:00 am
Time of death.
_
"I'm here for you." August spoke gently, his tone unwavering despite the intense emotions surrounding them. He moved closer, his demeanor serene and stabilizing in the midst of your turbulent thoughts. With deliberate care, he rested a soft hand on your shoulder. "Michael would've wanted me too."