The day they told me my husband was dead, my entire world collapsed in a single breath. The police said his car had swerved off the highway during a storm and slammed into the guardrail before bursting into flames. They called it an accident, a tragic loss caused by poor visibility and wet roads. I remember standing in the hospital hallway, unable to feel my legs as doctors and officers spoke around me like I wasn’t even there. At the funeral, everyone praised him as a loving husband, a loyal employee, and a man who worked too hard for everyone else. I cried until there were no tears left. For weeks afterward, I slept on the couch because I couldn’t bear to walk into our bedroom and see the empty side of the bed where he used to sleep.
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